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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422891">La Sylphide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yikes_Writes/pseuds/Yikes_Writes'>Yikes_Writes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Billy has his dick pierced and WILL whip it out if asked, Billy is a Street Dancer, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Blow Jobs, Bulimia, Coming Out, Eating Disorders, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Every Headcanon I Have Ever Had About Steve, Femme Steve Harrington, Friends With Benefits, Gay Billy Hargrove, I just write her like I do, I promise I don't hate nancy wheeler, It is NOT A ALL like the first step up movie pls don't look at me, Lingerie, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Nonbinary Character, Smut, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve is a Ballet Dancer, Strip Poker, Underage Drinking, steve harrington is a brat, steve is pan in this but its all labels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:46:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yikes_Writes/pseuds/Yikes_Writes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The room was full of people stretching, girls in tights and leotards, odd assortments of thick warm-up gear thrown on top, positioned with the barres near the wall, working their feet, stretching their calves and arches, warming up their ankles in their pretty pink ballet slippers. There were people on the floor, boys in tights and t-shirts laying across one leg, hips opened in the splits.<br/>Everyone was in groups, chattering to one another. Billy had never felt more out of place than he had his entire life.</p><p>-</p><p>Billy gets into the NYU Tisch School of the Arts to study dance. He moves out of his dad's house and begins the new chapter of his life, starting with his morning ballet classes and a bitchy prima named Steve.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Pliè</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is inspired by <a href="https://harringrovetrashh.tumblr.com/post/613723846336528384/okay-its-2am-here-but-i-just-had-the-most-crack">this</a> post by <a href="https://harringrovetrashh.tumblr.com/">@harringrovetrashh</a> on tumblr, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaytheBae/pseuds/TaytheBae">@TayTheBae</a> on ao3!</p><p>Check out <a href="https://harringrovetrashh.tumblr.com/post/613812892462186496/sooo-i-actually-really-like-the-danceau-my-little">these</a> amazing mood boards made by @harringrovetrashh!</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!<br/> </p><p>I did ballet for about 16 years, four years professionally until I broke my foot *finger guns while crying*, so this is THE most self-indulgent thing in the world.<br/>Chapter titles will go in order of typical exercises done in a ballet class bc I'm a NERD.<br/>Fic title taken from a GORGEOUS old-school ballet about a man dancing in the forest with beautiful spirits.<br/>Tags will be updated as I go I don't wanna spoil stuff.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Billy gaped at the advisor.</p><p>“Ballet? You’re fucking <em> serious </em> ?” Billy had worked his <em> ass </em> off, keeping his grades high and his dance resumé full, scoring himself a full fucking ride to the NYU Tisch School of the Arts. And now he was here at orientation being told by his sunny advisor Jenna that his<em> first-ever </em>university dance class would be<em> ballet</em>. </p><p>“We feel it’s best to begin with ballet, as many students, such as yourself, have never had any classical training. Ballet is the basis for many <em> other </em>forms of dance-”</p><p>“Yeah, for jazz and fucking<em> contemporary</em>, but not the shit <em> I </em> do. Street and B-boy have <em> nothing </em> to do with ballet.”</p><p>“Well, unfortunately, that is simply how our program goes. You don’t have a lot of choice in this matter.” She at least gave him a sad smile, handing over his first-semester schedule. </p><p>He scanned it as he left the office, plopping himself in a chair down the hall.</p><p>Monday, Wednesday, Friday: 10 am -12:30 pm Men’s Ballet </p><p>Tuesday, Thursday: 10 am - 1:30 pm Partnering Work</p><p>Monday, Wednesday: 1:30 pm - 3:00 pm Kinesthetics of Anatomy 1</p><p>And, of<em> fucking </em>course.</p><p>Monday-Friday: 7 am - 9: 30 am Ballet</p><p>He didn’t even<em> notice </em>the Men’s Ballet class, so really, he had<em> two </em>fucking ballet classes, back to back three days out of the week. What college course even<em> begins </em>at 7 am anyway? He huffed and returned to his dorm, stopping at a deli on the way, living out his best New York City life.</p><p>He had never been to New York before, had never been further east than Jackson Hole before, but Tisch was a good school, in the U.S. city most known for its performing arts, and they gave him a scholarship, and so he packed his shit and left, leaving his beloved vintage car with Mikey, the gruff old dude who ran the garage Billy worked at on weekends senior year, saving up to get the<em> fuck </em>outta his own house.</p><p>He slammed his way into the tiny dorm, his roommate, Ethan, was gone, seemed like the type to stay outta Billy’s hair, which he preferred. So he ate his sandwich and got Max on FaceTime.</p><p>“They’re making me take a fucking<em> ballet </em>class, and, get this, it’s at seven in the fucking<em> morning</em>. I thought college classes were supposed to start at like, noon.” She laughed at him.</p><p>“That’s what you get for going to a preppy art school. Won’t ballet be like, good for you, or something?” She was messing around with something off-camera. “Don’t they tell like, football players to take ballet for like, balance and stuff?” She pulled out<em> his </em> Juul, the one he thought he had<em> lost</em>, three months ago before he left and took a pull.</p><p>“Hey, Shitbird! That’s fucking mine!”  She grinned at him, blowing out the cloud.</p><p>“Not anymore, this is what I get since you ditched me.” She took another pull. Billy wanted to scream. “Plus, you shouldn’t be doing this anyway. Gotta keep them dancer boy lungs nice.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t be doing that shit, either. Aren’t you like, twelve?” She rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Whatever, you fucking hypocrite.” She shook her head. “So, you got any Saturday plans? Any college parties?”</p><p>“Probably.” He shrugged, leaning back on his bed. “Don’t feel much like goin’ though. Figure there’s time for all that shit.”</p><p>“Wow, how has living in New York City made you so<em> boring</em>? Isn’t it like, the city that never sleeps or something?”</p><p>“I’m not<em> boring</em>, I just don’t feel like goin’ out. We got orientation shit tomorrow, and I don’t wanna be feelin’ any residual grossness when I go to fucking <em> ballet class </em> on Monday at the ass crack of fucking dawn.” She laughed at him.</p><p>“I have no sympathy for you. These are your own choices.” He flipped her off.</p><p>“Listen, I gotta go, though. It’s getting late here and I haven’t finished unpacking.” That was a lie. It was only about nine and he had finished unpacking yesterday when he’d arrived. Didn’t have much to unpack, didn’t have much to<em> bring</em>. </p><p>“Okay, old man. I’ll talk to you soon. Have fun in <em> ballet class</em>.” He flipped her off again, ending the call right as she began to laugh at him.</p><p>Billy went to bed early that night, stayed awake for a while, just mulling it all over. He didn’t know what this semester was going to bring. He thought he would have a bit more leeway with his path, did research on the courses offered, specifically liked the sound of the “Creative Research in Dance”, a free space to fill with styles not taught specifically in the program. But that was semester 2, and Billy was gonna<em> scream</em>.</p><p>He didn’t know what the ballerina types were going to think of him. He was street through and through, focusing his energy on b-boy, house, street, and hip-hop. He was a floor master and was<em> strong</em>, but he had a general idea of what ballet kids were like, and he was not gonna fit in.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Tendu</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Until Heather looked up, waving across the room to a group of people standing in just about the middle. The fucking primas.</p><p>-</p><p>Billy's first ballet class comes and goes, and he meets brat named Steve.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is inspired by <a href="https://harringrovetrashh.tumblr.com/post/613723846336528384/okay-its-2am-here-but-i-just-had-the-most-crack">this</a> post by <a href="https://harringrovetrashh.tumblr.com/">@harringrovetrashh</a>on tumblr, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaytheBae/pseuds/TaytheBae">@TayTheBae</a> on ao3!</p><p>Check out <a href="https://harringrovetrashh.tumblr.com/post/613812892462186496/sooo-i-actually-really-like-the-danceau-my-little">these</a> amazing mood boards made by @harringrovetrashh!</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!<br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Monday came much too quickly for Billy’s liking. </p><p>He was up at six, wanting enough time for breakfast, chose to jog to the studio space. He was plenty early. It was expected of everyone to be warmed up and ready to go by the time the class began. He strode into the room a cool 15 minutes before class. </p><p>He was the last one to arrive it seemed. </p><p>The room was full of people stretching, girls in tights and leotards, odd assortments of thick warm-up gear thrown on top, positioned with the barres near the wall, working their feet, stretching their calves and arches, warming up their ankles in their pretty pink ballet slippers. There were people on the floor, boys in tights and t-shirts laying across on leg, hips opened in the splits. </p><p>Everyone was in groups, chattering to one another. Billy had never felt more out of place than he had his entire life.</p><p>He caught eyes with a girl, her hair long and brown, sitting in a hip stretch a little bit away from everyone. She smiled at him, her big eyes betraying how nervous she was. Billy went over and flung himself down next to her, mirroring her stretch. </p><p>“Hi, I’m Heather.” She offered a hand, he shook it with his own.</p><p>“Billy. Nice to meet you, Heather.” She gave him a bright smile. </p><p>“You ever taken a ballet class before?” She asked him, eyeing his loose sweatpants and muscle tank.</p><p>“That obvious, huh?” She laughed. </p><p>“That’s not what I meant! Shit, I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve never done ballet, and I was hoping I would have a buddy here.” He grinned at her.</p><p>“I mostly do street. B-boy and that shit. What’s your poison?”</p><p>“Contemporary, mostly. Some stuff is similar, or at least they use the same terms, but,” she leaned to him conspiratorily. “I am scared shitless.” He chuckled.</p><p>“Me too, Heather. Don’t worry, we’ll get through this prissy nightmare together.” She laughed heartily at that, and Billy felt okay. If he could have<em> one </em>person with whom he could share is ballet misery, he was feelin’ pretty okay. </p><p>Until Heather looked up, waving across the room to a group of people standing in just about the middle. <em> The fucking primas</em>. One of the girls was waving at Heather, gesturing for her to come over. She was standing with her knee bent and her foot in her hand by her ass, stretching her quad. Her shoulder was being grasped by a boy with dark messy hair who was holding his left leg over his head, his back to Billy and Heather. There was another girl moving around in her hips, long auburn hair tied into two braids, and one more in a downward-facing dog, treading her feet into the floor.</p><p>“Oh, that’s Angela, I met her at orientation.” Heather moved to stand up, yanking Billy up with her. “Do NOT make me go over there by myself.” She was muttering, pulling him along. The boy next to Angela put his leg down, shifting his hip a bit before turning and locking eyes with Billy.</p><p>This fucking<em> boy</em>. He was the prettiest thing Billy had<em> ever </em>seen. His legs were long, the muscles stretched and lean, not packed on and bulky like Billy’s were. His skin was smooth and soft looking, the pale color disrupted by spots and moles, Billy wanted to<em> bite </em>the ones on his neck. And his fucking face. He was pretty like a girl was, pink lips and big eyes, soft and<em> sweet </em>looking, his hair soft and full, the back of it curling slightly down his neck. Billy was so<em> smitten</em>.</p><p>Angela moved to hug Heather, greeting her with an over-exaggerated <em> Hey girl! </em> Her long bottle-blonde hair up in a neat bun.</p><p>“Hey, Angela. This is Billy! We just met over there.” He smirked at Angela, automatically turning on the charm when she blushed.</p><p>“Oh, um hi, uh, Billy. I’m Angela and this is Lorraine,” she gestured to the girl that was moving her hips. “And Grace,” Pointed to the girl that was now upright, who waved at Billy, her pointed face made to look more elven by her short dainty haircut. “And this is Steve.” The boy looked Billy up and down, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“Where’d they find <em> you </em>?” He asked, taking in Billy’s long hair, swept up into a ponytail by a green scrunchie he stole from Max, eyes lingering on the nose ring looped through his left nostril. They trailed down his body, looking at his collection of tattoos, the half sleeve on his upper left arm, lily flowers shaded beautifully, the one on his ribcage, visible in his cut off shirt, the transfer of a note written by his mother.</p><p>“Um, California?” Billy didn’t really know what to say.</p><p>“Have you ever done ballet before?”</p><p>“Nope.” Billy made sure to pop the ‘p’, trying to look as relaxed as he could, staring at this ethereal creature before him.</p><p>“Christ, I can fucking tell.” It was Billy’s turn to raise an eyebrow, squaring out his shoulders. </p><p>“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“You just don’t look...the type?”</p><p>“You mean I don’t have a stick up my ass like all you do?” Steve sat back in his hip, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow pulled high and lips pursed. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like every queen bee in every shitty high school movie ever made. Billy was so<em> turned on </em>by it he didn’t know what to fucking do with himself.</p><p>“Let me guess,” Steve smirked at him, head tilted to the side. “You do, I wanna say, street? You’re a breakdancer or something, and so you come in here, and immediately think you’re better than us.”</p><p>“Here’s the thing, I <em> know </em> I’m better than you prissy bitches. I’ve been doing what I do for<em> years</em>. How hard can fucking <em> ballet </em> be?” Steve laughed. Straight up, laughed in his face. He took Angela’s shoulder again, hiking the leg he hadn’t yet stretched over his head, bending towards her body so that his hips pushed out, making his legs splay<em> wider</em>, more than a 180° line. </p><p>“I’m not saying what you do is<em> easy</em>, but neither is<em> this</em>. So, do yourself a favor, and quit runnin’ your mouth before you embarrass yourself.” He swept the leg down as the teacher entered, clapping her hands as everyone gathered around.</p><p>Billy and Heather exchanged a look, wondering what in the fresh hell had just happened. </p><p>Half an hour later, Billy’s muscles were screaming. </p><p>They had not been taking it slow, the teacher, Julie, moving quickly through barre work, giving combinations to the dancers, a beat to the pianist, and making them go, clacking a stick against the ground and yelling out counts. </p><p>Billy knew he was strong, had to be for the kinda shit he did, but these were entirely different<em> muscles</em>, used in ways he frankly didn’t<em> understand</em>. His hips and thighs ached from holding them taught, trying to force turn-out. Julie had told him to<em> tuck your butt </em>about six times, and he had<em> no idea </em>what the fuck that meant, and his shoulders were sore from holding his arms out, so used to keeping them close in, or moving with the rest of him.</p><p>It was like a different world, and if he was being<em> totally </em>honest, ballet had kicked his ass.</p><p>By the time class was over, Billy felt like a puddle. He was sweating and tired and pissed off and only had half an hour before his men’s ballet class began. The girls filtered out of the room, taking a studio down the hall for the pointe class. Heather explained she and some of the other beginner girls were to take the class with regular ballet shoes until they were deemed<em> ready</em>. They swapped phone numbers, promising to commiserate via text later about their first ballet class.</p><p>Billy looked up from his phone and the string of curse words he was texting Max when Steve flopped down in front of him.</p><p>“You hurt yet?” Steve had a smug look on his face. Billy wanted to kiss it off.</p><p>“Existence<em> is </em>pain, Pretty Boy. I always hurt.” Steve rolled his eyes, but notices the slight tint his cheeks took on after Billy called him pretty.</p><p>“Stop being so dramatic. Look, I told you ballet wasn’t easy. Now you know it’s not. So <em>now</em> you know not to come in here acting like you’re cock of the fucking walk.” Steve had that amazing bitchy look back on his face.</p><p>“I’d <em> love </em> to see you try the shit <em> I </em> do.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure it’d be hard for me and I’d be bad at it. That’s not the fucking <em> point </em> .” He sounded so put upon by Billy. “The point is, you’re not better than us. Just because what you specialize in is ‘cooler’, or more <em> masculine</em>, doesn’t make you better than us <em> prissy bitches </em>.” He got up, stomping off to the barres and flinging one leg on them, leaning over it until his forehead was smooshed to it. </p><p>The teacher for Men’s Ballet was a huge bear of a guy called Nathan. He talked to them about the<em> strength </em>male ballet dancers had, the<em> power </em>they showed off. Billy didn’t know if Steve was still pissed off at him, or if the sour-puss face was at what Nathan was saying. </p><p>Personally, Billy could get on board with it. His legs were strong. Had to be in order to create the force that let him do standing back tucks, swipe switches, and corkscrews. He figured he could translate that into jumps okay.</p><p>The men’s class went better than the regular ballet class. For one, they were warmed up so only spent a little time at the barre, for another, Billy was right. He could translate the power wound into the bulging muscles on his thighs into grand jumps and leaps. Technically, they may not have been the best, but he could leap further and jump higher than the rest of the guys, <em> Steve </em>included.</p><p>Steve, for his part, seemed to be struggling more. He wasn’t acting like he did in the other class, always first to move across the floor, ready to show off with a smile on his face. He kept to the back mostly. Billy noticed he was good at turns, did about twenty fouette turns before the pianist ended the music. But he wasn’t a jumper. His legs were long and his flexibility showed in his leaps and grand jetés, but he didn’t have the<em> lift </em>Billy could achieve. </p><p>Billy’s pride swelled, he was <em>better</em> than Steve at<em> this</em>, and he was fully ready to rub that in Steve’s face after class, but he had grabbed his bag, tugged on some clothes over his<em> tight </em>little shorts and lovingly placed his ballet shoes in his bag before he was knocking his way down the stairs, headphones firmly in place over his ears. </p><p>Heather caught up with Billy just outside the building, and the two of them set off for lunch together, each having about an hour or so before their next class.</p><p>They found a cute Asian fusion place and ordered, grumbling to one another about ballet class.</p><p>“You said you’re from California, right?” Billy nodded, mouth full of vermicelli noodles. “Where abouts?” He took a few seconds to swallow.</p><p>“San Diego, originally. But we moved to Sacramento after my dad got remarried.” He didn’t explain that they moved<em> well </em>after the wedding, moved because the cops had been called on their house a few too many times, too many reports of screaming and crashing.</p><p>“That sucks. I went to San Diego once, I bet it was a cool place to grow up.”</p><p>“It really was. They are all kinds of secluded beaches, you could get good surfing without any tourists, it’s fucking awesome. There’s this one spot on La Jolla, kinda out of the way, but in the early summer pregnant leopard sharks come and hang out in the shallows since its so warm, and you can swim around with ‘em, it’s so sick.” Heather’s eyes were big.</p><p>“That’s so cool! I grew up in St. Louis. There wasn’t a lot of cool stuff going on there. At least not ‘swimming with pregnant sharks’ cool.” He laughed. </p><p>They killed some more time, swapping childhood stories, enough to make Billy ache for San Diego, their little house close enough to the ocean to hear it. </p><p>They parted ways with enough time for each to get to class, Heather going to a music theory and composition course, Billy heading off to his Kinesiology in Anatomy 1. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'd like to make it Very Clear that I am not saying ballet is harder than street or hip hop or b-boy or anything, but they use VERY different muscle groups in VERY different ways, so if you're used to one, the other will kick your ass for a while.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dégagé</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I didn’t know guys did pointe.”<br/>“Usually, they don’t.”<br/>“Why do you do it then?” Steve looked down, pressing one foot up onto the box of the shoe.<br/>“I just like it.” He murmured to the shoe. If Billy didn’t know any better he thought the guy was, blushing?<br/>“You’re good at it.” He looked back up to Billy, eyebrow raised.<br/>“Yeah, I know.” Billy laughed at him</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!<br/>This one's a little shorter, but we have some lovely bratty Steve.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rest of the first week passed and Billy had never been this sore in his life.</p><p>After classes every day he took his aching body to the shops and restaurants near him, applying to job after job.</p><p>His muscles constantly ached and he hasn’t done anything but <em> ballet </em> since he got here. Even the partnering class was ballet lifts, turns, and poses commonly found in any pas de deux (Billy was also beginning to learn terms). He was wound tight and wanted to get into a studio for some <em> him </em> time. </p><p>He booked out the smaller studio for Friday night, a late slot, but the online form had most times full. He was complaining to Max on the phone when he arrived, not bothering to check and see that he was ten minutes too early, nor looking to see if the studio was in use.</p><p>He slammed the door open and came face to face with <em> Prissy Steve </em>, moving through the space.</p><p>Billy gaped. Steve was a <em> beautiful </em> dancer. Billy may be an asshole, but he wasn’t <em> blind </em> . The guy was strong and lean and could use his long body to form elegant lines. Julie always called his dancing <em> clean </em>. </p><p>But here he was, playing some indie song Billy didn’t know and working through the center of the room. Billy stared. He was wearing blocky pointe shoes that looked dirty and worn out, the bottom soft and malleable as he fitzed about. He caught Billy out of the corner of his eye on a triple pirouette, ending it beautifully before huffing and clomping to his stuff on the floor in front of the speaker. He paused his music, checking his phone.</p><p>“I still have time. Get out.” He was a <em> brat </em>. </p><p>“I didn’t know guys did pointe.”</p><p>“<em> Usually </em>, they don’t.”</p><p>“Why do you do it then?” Steve looked down, pressing one foot up onto the box of the shoe.</p><p>“I just like it.” He murmured to the shoe. If Billy didn’t know any better he thought the guy was, <em> blushing </em>?</p><p>“You’re good at it.” He looked back up to Billy, eyebrow raised.</p><p>“Yeah, I know.” Billy laughed at him. “Can you leave already? I still have time in here and you’re wasting it telling me obvious shit I already know.” Billy raised his hand in surrender.</p><p>“Jesus, man. Don’t get your fucking panties in a twist.” Steve just glared darkly at him.</p><p>“Out.” He backed out the room, smirking at Steve, Max shrieking <em> is that the guy? </em> in his earbuds.</p><p>Fifteen minutes later, Steve came out of the room, sweat pants over the shorts he favored for classes. </p><p>“I went over since you took so much of my time gawking at me like an asshole.” He nestled headphones over his giant hair, not bothering to let Billy get a reply in and flounced off to the stairs, back perfectly straight and shoulders squared.</p><p>“Listen, Max. I’ll talk to you later. I only have fifty-five minutes in there since shithead Prissy Steve went over.”</p><p>“I know you can’t see me, but I’m rolling my eyes at you.”</p><p>“Why? What’d I do now?”</p><p>“Billy, Neil isn’t in your life anymore. Stop being a macho asshole and ask the guy out if you have such a big stupid crush on him.”</p><p>“I do NOT have a <em> big stupid crush </em> on Prissy Steve, the guy’s an asshole!”</p><p>“The guy’s a <em> ballerina </em> . I mean, what were you expecting? You live across the country now, <em> completely </em> on your own dime. Neil can choke. Be gay, do crime, fuck prissy ballerinas.” Billy laughed, putting the phone on speaker as he stretched out his legs.</p><p>“Don’t let <em> him </em> hear you talkin’ like that. Last thing I want him to know is that I’m <em> here </em> potentially fucking prissy ballerinas.” </p><p>“Whatever, he’s not even home. But I’ll let you get to it, I’m going out tonight, anyway.”</p><p>“Christ, Max. Don’t get into any trouble, you gotta watch out now that I’m not there to throw myself on the fucking sword.”</p><p>“I won’t! God, I’m hanging up.” The call closed out, Billy laughed again and sunk into his warm-up, getting his body ready. </p><p>He threw himself into it, practicing his footwork, ending off his session with a few power moves. He would <em> hate </em> himself if he got rusty doing all this ballet shit. He was sweaty and tired by the time the hour (fifty-five minutes) was up. He wandered to his dorm, curling up in bed with Netflix and a pout, thinking about Prissy Steve and how much he <em> didn’t </em> want to kiss his pretty face. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So here's a video for some of the power moves Billy mentioned <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5Xr0F4a0iU">there's some good stuff.</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Rond de Jambe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“What the fuck is your problem?”</p><p>Billy shut the door behind them, shutting in the party, gearing himself up for a fight.</p><p>“My problem? You’re my problem.” He began stomping down the stairs, but Billy was quick to cut him off at the next landing. </p><p>“You’ve been a bitch to me since the second I got here, so don’t stand there and call me a problem.” Steve whirled around. </p><p>“Because you walked into class that very first day and looked me up and down like I was shit on your fucking shoe. I worked my ass off to get myself out of the tiny shitty midwestern hick town I grew up in so that I could come here and not be made fun of for who I am, what I like. So you can take your bigoted, heteronormative bullshit, and shove it up your ass!” Steve had moved into Billy, his finger poking into his chest. Billy grabbed his wrist before he could walk away again.</p><p>-</p><p>Heather drags Billy to a party, Steve stands up for himself, and Billy is in love.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Saturday night, Heather dragged him to a party. Some of the girls from their ballet class had rich parents and had a big apartment near the studio. They were throwing a party, elite invites had been given out to select members of the class. Billy was not one of them. But Heather was and was too nervous to go alone. So he put on tight jeans, left his shirt mostly unbuttoned, and went with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kept chattering nervously as they walked from her dorm. She needed outfit advice. Billy told her her ass looked good in the denim miniskirt and threw a random shirt from her little dresser at her face. She had huffed at him </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think we should’ve brought alcohol?” She looked at him as he navigated to the building, the address on Heather’s phone. Heather hadn’t partied much in high school. Went to a little one and had a tight-knit group of friends. She said they got drunk plenty together, but she didn’t know party </span>
  <em>
    <span>etiquette</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This thing’s probably big enough it won’t matter. We can just steal some from somebody.” The came upon the building, entering the code in the box and buzzing in, going up the old stairs to the eighth floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we knock?” Heather was standing nervously in front of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just go in.” Billy opened the door, shoving Heather in front of him as he pushed his way into the party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather! Billy!” Grace pushed her way through a few people, giving them each a one-armed hug. “I’m glad you two made it!” She </span>
  <em>
    <span>conveniently</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t mention Billy </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> officially being invited. “Can I make you a drink?” She was holding onto Billy’s bicep, batting her blues eyes at him. Her short hair was styled artfully for tonight. She usually just lapt it pinned off her face with floral barrettes in class. She was pretty, really pretty, but barking up the </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong fucking tree</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he let her pull him into the kitchen, gesturing to the bottles of booze and mixers scattered along the counter. They chatted as he mixed drinks for himself and Heather, pushing one into her hand and clinking their plastic cups together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get sloshed.” She laughed and tipped her cup back, both draining their drinks, Heather shuddering at the taste. Billy set to work refilling when he felt a body collide into his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m sorry.” Billy turned at the voice and came near nose to nose with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very intoxicated</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve. “Oh, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Steve pursed his pouty lips and moved next to Billy, making himself a drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t sound too jazzed to see me here. Am I not good enough to party with you lot?” Steve was wearing denim shorts, high waisted and </span>
  <em>
    <span>short</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The back pockets had paintings of sunflowers on them. He had a cropped sweater on, yellow to match the sunflowers. His </span>
  <em>
    <span>socks</span>
  </em>
  <span> were even yellow to match, sticking out of brown leather boots. His hair was done, and his dark eyes were shadowed, a smokey eye made of shimmery golds, finished with a black liner and a tasteful lash. Billy noticed a piercing through his belly button, two tiny diamonds “You look </span>
  <em>
    <span>gorgeous</span>
  </em>
  <span> tonight, Pretty Boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s pink-tinged lips pursed slightly. He finished his drink and left the kitchen, returning to the depths of the party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy grinned at his back when he retreated. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> getting under this asshole’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About an hour into the party, Billy was supporting a nice buzz and a drunk Heather. At least she was a happy drunk, constantly cooing how much she loved anyone in their vicinity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> suggested they play spin the bottle, all he knew was that he was sitting in a large circle, watching one of the guys from their class shove his tongue down Heather’s throat. She spun, selecting a girl Billy recognized but didn’t know the name of. It cycled through a few people before hitting Billy. He ended up kissing Angela, Steve’s stuck up friend. She tasted like Mike’s Hard Lemonade. He took the bottle and whipped it around. It went a few times before slowing, the neck pointing </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow, lips going tight as they always did when Billy was involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He stood up, stepping over the bottle and out of the room. Billy followed, catching up to him as Steve was emerging from a bedroom, shrugging on a light brown corduroy jacket. Steve just rolled his eyes and left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is your problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shut the door behind them, shutting in the party, gearing himself up for a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My </span>
  </em>
  <span>problem? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> my problem.” He began stomping down the stairs, but Billy was quick to cut him off at the next landing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me since the second I got here, so don’t stand there and call </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> a problem.” Steve whirled around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> walked into class that very </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span> day and looked me up and down like I was shit on your fucking shoe. I worked my </span>
  <em>
    <span>ass</span>
  </em>
  <span> off to get myself out of the tiny shitty midwestern hick town I grew up in so that I could come </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span> and not be made fun of for who I am, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> I like. So you can take your bigoted, heteronormative </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and shove it up your </span>
  <em>
    <span>ass</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Steve had moved into Billy, his finger poking into his chest. Billy grabbed his wrist before he could walk away again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m talking about the way you fucking smirked at me and called me </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pretty Boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, told me not to get my </span>
  <em>
    <span>panties in a twist</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Told me that guys don’t usually </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> pointe, like I don’t already fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>know that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You are like </span>
  <em>
    <span>every</span>
  </em>
  <span> straight guy asshole </span>
  <em>
    <span>jock</span>
  </em>
  <span> I left in that town and I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>had it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I had to live in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>closet</span>
  </em>
  <span> for so long and now I don’t have to, so I’m not gonna let jerks like you push me around and make me feel like </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> for expressing my gender identity in a way that makes </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel good. It’s hard enough I have to be in that fucking men’s class where it just gets beaten into my brain that men should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong and powerful to support the delicate women</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What if </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to be delicate? What then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay. Here are my problems with everything you just said. First of all, called you Pretty Boy, because you’re pretty. Literally nothing more to that. Saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t get your panties in a twist</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a fairly common phrase I’m sorry that I mead you feel shitty. Won’t say it again. And lastly, how can I be like </span>
  <em>
    <span>every straight guy asshole jock</span>
  </em>
  <span> from your shitty hometown if I’m gayer than fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Broadway</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He raised his eyebrows at Steve. “Look, I’m really sorry that I was an ass to you, but that’s because I’m just an ass, not because I think gender roles are rigid and that there’s a binary, or any of that shit because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I was genuinely curious about pointe, I’m new to this ballet shit and thought that maybe it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> common for dudes to do pointe. I swear I wasn’t trying to make fun of you for living outside gender norms. I thought your dancing that day was </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you looked so confident and I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>obsessed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He took a step back from Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really sorry that I did and said shit to hurt you, or disrespect you, and all that shit I did. I really didn’t mean it, but I think you’re real talented, and I just hope there’s no hard feeling between us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had been gawking at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you were talking like, because you specialize in like </span>
  <em>
    <span>masculine</span>
  </em>
  <span> styles, you’re better than us-than </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> what I meant by it. I was just fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>nervous</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>intimidated</span>
  </em>
  <span> and started talking outta my </span>
  <em>
    <span>ass</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which has been sore for </span>
  <em>
    <span>days</span>
  </em>
  <span> from how fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>difficult</span>
  </em>
  <span> ballet is. I never meant it as like, I’m better than you because I’m this butch dude I was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> intimidated and needed to, I don’t even know. Make myself feel better? Ballet is </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking hard, though. Shit takes a lot of strength.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had a pleased smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, um, I probably owe you an apology for like, calling you a bigot and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, you don’t owe me shit. You were standing up for yourself.” Steve beamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just that, I feel like I’m always on the defense. Me doing ballet wasn’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>respected</span>
  </em>
  <span> where I’m from, let alone being </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> cishet. I never actually came out back home. I think if I even </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>genderqueer</span>
  </em>
  <span> there, the sun woulda blacked out or somethin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay. I know what it’s like to protect yourself from that kinda shit.” He held out his hand. “But I wanna start over with you. My name is Billy Hargrove. I’m a first-year dance student. I’m from San Diego, California and my pronouns are he/him.” Steve laughed. Any college kid recognized the introduction from the first day of every class. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve Harrington, first-year dance student from Hawkins, Indiana. It’s about two hours outside of Indy.” Billy pulled a face. “Yeah, fuckin’ tell me about it. My pronouns are he/him.” They shook hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Listen, I should check on Heather, but let me put my number in your phone, and we can hang out if you want. I could do with more than one friend in this city.” Steve laughed, handing over his phone, letting Bily tap away at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you wanna come with me, I was gonna head to my friend Robin’s place. I actually texted her about you and wanted to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> drunk and sad with her, but we could make it fun, not pissed off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! I mean, would it be okay to bring Heather, though, I don’t wanna leave her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah! Grab her and I can walk with you guys there.” Billy bounded up the stairs, shooting into the party to take Heather and met Steve back on the stairs, breathing heavily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, Billy, where are we goin’?” Heather asked, slurring </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve’s friend’s place.” Steve led them back into a dorm hall, taking them up a few floors before stopping at a door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her roommate never showed, so she has the room to herself for now.” He was kicking at the door, a voice inside yelling </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hear you, Dingus. Knock that shit off</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door was pulled open by a pretty girl, short-cropped hair and bright blue eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought friends!” Steve swept past her into the room, throwing himself onto the made-up bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, I’m Billy.” He smiled at her, would’ve extended a hand if he wasn’t holding Heather against him. “And this is Heather, and she’s sloshed.” Heather giggled and smiled. The girl, Robin he’s assuming, laughed and welcomed them inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You all dancers then?” She asked as Billy deposited Heather in the desk chair. “I’ve heard plenty about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Billy. Although Dingus said you guys talked it out and are cool now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we both dance. Steve and I just had a big ol’ misunderstanding, but we’re good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>being an asshole about gender expression and identity?” She was sitting next to Steve on her bed, Billy taking up the empty one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Robin</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Steve whined. “I already </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well I wanna hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.” She turned back to Billy. “We’re from a shithole town filled with nothing but cows and republicans, so we gotta watch out for one another. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>sometimes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” She rolled her head back on her neck, facing Steve. “Little Stevie here tends to </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgive</span>
  </em>
  <span> people easier than they </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve blushed red, looking at the floor. He muttered </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is different</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Billy was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hear the story that was obviously there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No really, I was being an asshole just because that’s generally the kind of person I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not because I’m like, prejudiced against him or his expression or anything. And I apologized and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel okay.” She looked at Steve, who nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then. I have some shitty vodka from the corner store. We should all catch up to Heather.” Heather looked taken aback at being addressed, watching the drama, totally confused. Robin poured out three shots, giving Heather a bottle of water with a wink.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Port de Bras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Billy called Max when he got back, telling her all about his day, how Steve was going to put in a good word for Billy at the school bookstore so they could work there together, how Steve said the funniest thing over coffee.<br/>“You’ve got it bad, Brother.” Billy rolled his eyes.<br/>“No I don’t, he’s just fun to hang out with.”<br/>“Yeah, I totally believe that. You just spent like, twenty minutes going off about what he wore to bed, Billy. You wanna fuck him!”<br/>“So what! I can wanna fuck him and just be his friend!”<br/>“I’d love to see you try that.”</p><p>-</p><p>Billy and Steve spend the day with one another. Basically, it's pretty soft.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Billy woke up with a raging headache the next day. He, Robin, and Steve had all gotten </span>
  <em>
    <span>hammered</span>
  </em>
  <span> the night before, Heather sobering up some and transitioning from </span>
  <em>
    <span>sloppy drunk friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mom friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy slowly began to realize he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his bed, and that there was another </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span> flopped nearly on top of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s make up was smudged, but still somehow looked good. He had ditched his party outfit for loose little shorts that were soft where they pressed against Billy and a cropped tank top. Billy quickly realized he himself was in just boxers, his clothes in a pile on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last night was fuzzy, but he thinks he remembers coming home with Steve and Heather, who happened to live in the same residence building. Neither of them wanted Billy walking home drunk so, here he was, sharing Steve’s bed, sharing Steve’s warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pile on top of him began shifting, soft noises coming out of his mouth. Billy froze, not wanting to startle Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted his head, squinting up at Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Did we fuck?” Billy laughed softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. You wouldn’t let me walk home by myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded. “Good. I’m smart sometimes.” He shuffled back onto Billy’s chest. “I like being your friend, Bill. Especially if it means I get to lay on top of you like this. You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy laughed again, watching Steve bounce slightly on his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always game for a cuddle.” Steve nestled his face into Billy’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>head hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He whined into Billy. “And something is </span>
  <em>
    <span>jabbing </span>
  </em>
  <span>my </span>
  <em>
    <span>face</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you smushed your forehead right into a nipple ring.” Steve’s head shot up again. He went slightly cross-eyed looking at Billy’s nipple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, I didn’t know you had this pierced.” He poked at the barbell and surveyed the other one. “Or that one! How many piercings do you have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, those two and my nose. I have my left earlobe and two in my right cartilage, I have a Marley piercing, you know the bit under your tongue, and uh, couple more.” Steve squinted at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> have your dick pierced.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you get that outta what I said?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got weird and said ‘couple more’ and I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> any on your face, that means you have your </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick</span>
  </em>
  <span> pierced.” Billy just shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently they feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> good for whoever I’m fuckin’.” A blush worked its way slowly up Steve’s pretty shoulders, settling on his neck. He hid his face back into Billy’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>they?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I got a few goin’ on down there. If you ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice, I’d be happy to show you.” Billy purred, running one hand through Steve’s hair. Steve slapped his chest, but Billy watched the blush on his soft skin deepen a few shapes, spreading to his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could never do that. The thought of </span>
  <em>
    <span>shoving </span>
  </em>
  <span>a needle through my </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick</span>
  </em>
  <span>-” he shuddered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got that cute little belly one. Not much different from that, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that one was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mess</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It took me months to </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>go through with it, and even then, Robin had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>physically</span>
  </em>
  <span> hold me down for it.” Billy laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you two been close?” Steve hummed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe five years now? She did theater and band, and those were typically the only kids that wouldn’t mind hanging out with me. Surprise, the theater kids don’t mind being seen with the token queer.” He sighed, his hand splaying out on Billy’s rips. “We were good friends, but we got </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> close the summer before last. I had just graduated and was working a shitty job at the mall, and she worked with me. We ended up getting, like, locked in a weird room in the basement and nobody found us for like, a day and a half.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a lot to process there.” Steve giggled. “Wait, so how did nobody notice you were gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My parents aren’t in town a lot. Didn’t notice I hadn’t come home since they weren’t there anyway. Eventually, my friend Dustin found us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, that’s pretty heavy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it was sucky, but I had some weed on me so we got high and really bonded while we were down there. Quit the mall, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I can see why. And, you graduated the year before last?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I took a gap year. Waited for Robin and, well, the first time I auditioned here, I got in, but didn’t really get a scholarship. My dad refused to pay for school unless I went for something ‘worthwhile’. So I saved up some money and Robin helped me find and apply to scholarships and when I auditioned again, I got better financial aid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Pretty Boy. I really had you pegged all wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. When I first met you, figured you were a stuck up type. Kinda had you thought you’d be a rich kid that had everything on a silver fucking platter. I’m sorry I keep assuming shit. I’ve been wrong every time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugged. “To be fair, grew up a rich kid that </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> have everything on a silver fucking platter, I mean, that’s how I got into ballet in the first place. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> afford to go to prestigious studios and expensive summer intensives so I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but the second I say to my dad that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to study business just to work at </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> company, to someday </span>
  <em>
    <span>run it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, say I want to dance, suddenly he's telling me to get a job and put </span>
  <em>
    <span>myself</span>
  </em>
  <span> through school. Some, very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>specific</span>
  </em>
  <span> terms were thrown around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy tightened his arms around Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think your dad and my dad should go bowling. Sound like two peas in a homophobic pod.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad’s not homophobic. He told me he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me being gay, but then I told him I’m actually pansexual and he told me I’m confused and said I need to make up my mind.” Billy felt Steve’s fingers flex. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a fun conversation.” He considered it for a minute. “Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he said he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me being gay if I wasn’t ‘one of those homos that wears women’s clothing’, so I asked him what constituted as women’s clothing, because if I, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy</span>
  </em>
  <span> owned it and wore it, then is it still </span>
  <em>
    <span>women’s clothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He rolled his eyes. “Told me to quit bein’ a wise-ass and didn’t let me go to ballet class for like, two weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad threw me down the stairs first time he saw me with a boy.” Steve looked up at him, smudged eyes big. He ran his hand through the messy brown hair. “Never liked me dancing much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Bill. I’m sorry. What did he say when you came here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t say shit. I worked my ass off, got a scholarship, and I’m here entirely on my own fucking dime. I never gave him room to argue, just packed my shit up and left. I need to find a job though. I’ve only got </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span> saved up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, look at us. Two bitchy dancers with enough daddy issues to fuel a strip club.” He rested his chin on Billy’s sternum. “You wanna get breakfast? I could go for something </span>
  <em>
    <span>greasy</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now.” Steve flopped off of Billy, somehow gracefully landing on the floor. He scoffed when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. “Drunk Steve is usually so nice to me and takes my make up off. Little asshole skipped out on his </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> job.” He grabbed a soft towel, dipping it in remover. “Why didn’t you tell me I look like a raccoon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you still looked pretty good. Just a little smokier.” Fucked out. He looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked out</span>
  </em>
  <span> with his make up like it was. Billy shimmied on his jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want a shirt? I’m sure I can find something that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> cropped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I don’t mind cropped if that’s what you got.” Steve tossed him a shirt, an old gray one, cut off just under the Hawkins High Phys. Ed. He put it on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t wear a lot of stuff that </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>cut off.” Billy hummed. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidding </span>
  </em>
  <span>me?” Steve had wiped off one eye and was currently scrubbing of the second one. “Why are your fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>abs</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that?” Billy flexed his stomach, patting at it. Steve was staring, mouth open just a little, still wiping at the makeup on his eye. “All of your muscles are just like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> them to look like that. You stretch yours out so you’re all long and pretty. I wanna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>thicc</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re right.” He finally got the makeup off, turning to the little sink to wash his face. Billy stared at his ass as he bent over. He moisturized his skin delicately, putting on some more mascara for the day. He began changing, Billy trying actively </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to look at his ass as he wiggled himself into a pair of tight jeans, buttoning over his hips, just where his waist nipped in a little bit. “I mean, you did a good job, you’re already plenty </span>
  <em>
    <span>thicc</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He pulled a sweater over the little tank top. It was cropped and oversized, delicately hanging off one shoulder. Billy wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>bite</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the pretty skin there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do you wanna go?” Steve was staring at his phone, the clear case showed off two polaroids kept in it, one of Steve in a group hug with a bunch of kids, one os Steve and Robin in sailor outfits, Steve sitting on the counter behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know a place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ended up at a greasy spoon diner Billy had walked by almost every day on his way to the studio. Billy put int an order for a couple of eggs, home fries, bacon, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>lots</span>
  </em>
  <span> of coffee, the finest hangover food he could think of, and Steve fucking got himself a fruit parfait and </span>
  <em>
    <span>unbuttered toast</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Billy just raised his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you say you wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>greasy</span>
  </em>
  <span> food? There is nothing greasy about </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve just shrugged. Billy held out a piece of bacon. Steve rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy pushed it out further into the space between them. “Billy, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jewish</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m not gonna eat the bacon.” Billy laughed, taking a bit of it himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, sorry about that, Pretty Boy. I didn’t know you’re Jewish.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, we’ve been friends for like, twelve hours. We don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> about each other more than the fact that we both have shitty fathers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that you’re from Indiana.” Steve laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kind of a pick-and-choose Jew. I mean, I do most of the holidays and had the bar mitzvah and everything, but I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>full</span>
  </em>
  <span> kosher, and I don’t really observe Shabbat or anything, but I like a lot of the teachings and beliefs. And my mom was pretty strictly no-pork, so I’ve never actually eaten it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s kinda how I feel about Catholicism. There’s a lot of terrible shit in the culture of it, but there’s a lot of good teachings and I like the idea of God. Haven’t been to mass since my mom died, though.” Steve’s eyes went soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, shit, I’m so sorry, Bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a long time ago. She was pretty cool though. Always liked watchin’ me dance.” Steve smiled at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, on Friday when you were in the studio, I stayed and watched you for a while. You’re really good. Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Sweet Thing. You ever tried street?” Steve laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I would look fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing that. Spiciest I’ve ever gotten is fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>modern</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, Pretty Boy. I can teach you. It’ll be like one of those awful fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Step Up</span>
  </em>
  <span> movies.” Steve dramatically gasped and clutched at his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dancer</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re not allowed to dislike </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of those movies! That’s blasphemy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re convoluted as hell, you can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously</span>
  </em>
  <span> like them, can you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! The dancing is always really good, and they’re all, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> dancers and shit. The plots get kinda rough after the second one, but they’re still great to watch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take your word for that one, Stevie.” Steve reached over with his fork, stealing a piece of potato. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got plans today? I was gonna head out and explore the city a bit. I haven’t gotten to yet this week.”  Steve stole Billy’s coffee, taking a sip of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ended up in Central Park, being stupid tourists and taking pictures of each other. Billy got a really great one of Steve mid-back-walk-over, his back perfectly straight and his legs flat in the air, his split a perfect line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they parted ways, going back to their separate dorms, they had exchanged Snapchat and Instagram handles. Billy called Max when he got back, telling her all about his day, how Steve was going to put in a good word for Billy at the school bookstore so they could work there together, how Steve said </span>
  <em>
    <span>the funniest thing over coffee</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got it </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Brother.” Billy rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I don’t, he’s just fun to hang out with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally</span>
  </em>
  <span> believe that. You just spent like, twenty minutes going off about what he wore to </span>
  <em>
    <span>bed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Billy. You wanna </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what! I can wanna fuck him and just be his friend!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see you try that.” They went back and forth for a while before Billy kicked her off the line, over her trying to call him out. When he opened his phone he had a new notification on Instagram.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The picture was of Billy, sitting across from Steve at the indie coffee shop they found. He was looking out the window, mug in hand. Steve had captioned it:</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Got drunk and accidentally made a new best friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy was tagged in the image and scrolled through the few comments there already were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>@RobinBuckles: Sorry?? NEW best friend?? Have I been replaced by BILLY??</span>
</p><p>
  <span>@DustyHendy: @RobinBuckles lets not forget who the ORIGINAL best friend is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy laughed at those two, going through the rest of Steve’s profile. He had a lot of pictures from ballet classes, him in various artful poses, some mid-dance. He had some cute selfies, a few in a full-length mirror showing off outfits, a few close-ups on his sultry eyes with bold makeup on. And of course, there were plenty with his kids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had told him all about babysitting through high school, growing really close with the gaggle of kids, especially Dustin, who Steve called </span>
  <em>
    <span>basically my little brother</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He said they talked on the phone every other day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve didn’t have many followers, his private account kept to just friends, Billy guesses he wanted to keep it a safe zone, said that the kids at his high school picked on him. It probably would’ve been worse if they saw the artful selfies of Steve in cute skirts, tutus, makeup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy opened his own profile. He rarely posted, but selected the one of Steve he had taken. He never put much stock into captions, typing out “Flexi-Bendy.” and tagging Steve in the image. He liked it almost immediately. Max was always quick to comment on his posts and her post came right away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>@MadMax: Is this the gay agenda?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy laughed and liked the comment.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Arabesque</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I’m honestly not even all that shocked that you have your dick pierced. Like, it makes a lot of sense with your whole vibe.” Billy raised his bottle at Robin, giving her a lazy grin.<br/>“Now that I think about it, you two may be the first women to ever see my dick. You should feel honored.” Heather just laughed.<br/>“Your’s is the first dick I’ve seen in real life, not like, on the internet. And Dingus once ‘accidentally’ sent me some nudes.” Steve’s cheeks went bright red.<br/>“It was completely an accident! That’s when I was fucking around with that guy named Robert, which alphabetically is right next to your name!”<br/>“Yeah, and at first you acted freaked out, but then you were like, since you’ve seen them though, what do you think?”<br/>“I would never send an unsolicited dick pic!”<br/>“But unsolicited pictures of you fingering your asshole are fine to send to me?” Billy choked on his beer as Heather laughed, Steve’s mouth clamped shut and his cheeks only turned a deeper shape of red. </p><p>-</p><p>The gang all hang out and play Never Have I Ever, Billy gets his dick out, Steve gets a phone call.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p><p>I looked at so many pictures of dick piercings for this, my search history is currently a nightmare.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next week was </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> better than Billy’s first. Ballet class was still a bummer, but it was more fun when Steve’s face brightened up at the sight of Billy walking in, when they stood next to one another at barre, when Steve began joining him and Heather for their lunch breaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of the week, the two were near inseparable, Billy even scheduling his shifts at his new job at the campus bookstore to match Steve’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were regulars on the other’s Instagram stories, Dustin had even begun following Billy, commenting on every awkward picture of Steve he put up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time flew by until they were halfway through the first semester. Early-November saw Billy, Steve, and Heather at Robin’s dorm, the typical hangout spot since she had never been re-assigned a roommate. They were each a few beers deep, taking turns hitting Robin’s pen, blowing the vapor carefully out the window, half-full chip bags and a few pizza slices left on the empty desk Robin had placed between the two beds, acting as a table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, never have I ever, um, dated a girl.” Billy raised his beer as the others drank from theirs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve seriously </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> gone on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>single date </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a girl?” Robin asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, never. I knew who I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> young.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never have I ever been in a relationship longer than three months.” It was Heather’s turn. Steve was the only one who took a drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, have I ever told you that I fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nancy Wheeler?” Steve rolled his eyes as Robin said that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Dear. Almost every day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s Nancy Wheeler?” Heather blurted the question before Billy could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My ex. Dated her junior and senior year of high school. It, uh, it ended really poorly.” He began picking at the label of the bottle. “I came out to her, and she got really, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it. She would ask me if I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> I wasn’t gay and just trying to convince myself that I liked girls, and would get insecure about me cheating on her with guys, and then she ended up cheating on </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> at a party, and when I confronted her about it, she told me she never loved me and that I was just lying to myself. She kept calling me bullshit, too.” The label of the beer bottle was gathering under Steve’s painted fingernails. They were blue. Billy had done them two days ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Stevie. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.” Steve gave Billy a watery smile. “I’m serious. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> bullshit, and it’s</span>
  <em>
    <span> not</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay that she was that close-minded about you.” Steve reached out, taking Billy’s hand, holding it gently. That’s been another new thing, hand-holding. Steve is clingy as </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be touching Billy as often as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Bill. It was shitty, but, you know. It’s in the past.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, not to like, break the moment, but never have I ever taken it up the ass.” Billy roared with laughter, Steve throwing his head back as well. Heather </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> fell off Robin’s bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Robin. That was some fucking comedy gold right there. Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>timing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy had to wipe </span>
  <em>
    <span>tears</span>
  </em>
  <span> from his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but none of you have drunk, and I know for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fact</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dingus has.” Steve took a few deep breaths to calm down his laughter. Raising his bottle and taking a swig. Billy drank as well. Heather even shyly took a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I tell you I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bottom</span>
  </em>
  <span>, doesn’t even cover it.” Steve was still giggling. “I once asked Nancy if she would be open to pegging me, we got in a fight for like, three days about how I should just break up with her because I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously unsatisfied with her anatomy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I mean, I ate her pussy enough that she shoulda </span>
  <em>
    <span>known</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was pretty fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>satisfied</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Dingus, remember when we talked about oversharing? That’s what you just did. Plus everyone on planet fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Earth</span>
  </em>
  <span> knows you’re a bottom. I’m intrigued that Billy is as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. I’ve tried it a few times, and like, it’s okay, but it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally</span>
  </em>
  <span> for me, and I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather top.” Robin had a look of mild disgust on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> Billy’s a top. He has his </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick pierced</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Steve practically shrieked. “He told me like, the first time we hung out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you’re </span>
  <span>both</span>
  <span> oversharers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> me what piercings I had, I listed most of ‘em, and then I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>some others</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he guessed it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you were being weird and vague and </span>
  <em>
    <span>what else</span>
  </em>
  <span> would you be weird and vague about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what piercings are they? Is it weird I kinda want to see them?” Heather’s eyes were bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I don’t mind you lookin’. There’s three of ‘em.” He stood up, fumbling with his belt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin, Heather, and Steve gathered around him, watching as he pulled out his dick, running his hand along it to slide back the foreskin. He had two frenum piercings forming a small ladder underneath his frenulum, and a Prince Albert, one end of the curved barbell resting just outside of his slit, the other side nestles just above the first ladder piercing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Did those hurt?” Steve was staring at his dick, mouth hanging open just a little bit. Billy wanted to press his cock </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> into that pretty mouth. He put it away before it could begin filling out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The ladder was fine, got those done at the same time, so it was like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sore</span>
  </em>
  <span> after, but it didn’t really hurt. The Prince Albert was rough, but it wasn’t too bad. Healing was a bitch for it all though, took about two months and I wasn’t supposed to fuck or whack off or </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’ve never been hornier in my </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had his eyes trained under Billy’s belt still as Billy slumped back onto the empty bed he was sitting with Steve. Steve moved over and daintily sat back down beside him, sitting much stiffer than he had before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m honestly not even all that </span>
  <em>
    <span>shocked</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you have your dick pierced. Like, it makes a lot of sense with your whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy raised his bottle at Robin, giving her a lazy grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that I think about it, you two may be the first women to ever see my dick. You should feel honored.” Heather just laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your’s is the first dick I’ve seen in </span>
  <em>
    <span>real life</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not like, on the internet. And Dingus once ‘accidentally’ sent me some nudes.” Steve’s cheeks went </span>
  <em>
    <span>bright</span>
  </em>
  <span> red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> an accident! That’s when I was fucking around with that guy named </span>
  <em>
    <span>Robert</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which alphabetically is </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> next to your name!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and at first you </span>
  <em>
    <span>acted</span>
  </em>
  <span> freaked out, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> you were like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>since you’ve seen them though, what do you think?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> send an unsolicited dick pic!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But unsolicited pictures of you fingering your asshole are fine to send to me?” Billy choked on his beer as Heather laughed, Steve’s mouth clamped shut and his cheeks only turned a </span>
  <em>
    <span>deeper</span>
  </em>
  <span> shape of red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had just gotten cute lingerie, and he wanted to <em>see. </em>Can we just get back to the game, please.” Steve huffed, looking pissed off and bratty. Billy </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> it when he got like this, pouty. He slung an arm around Steve, pulling him into Billy’s side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, Stevie. I’m sure the guy </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> your ass pics.” Steve squirmed but Billy only held on tighter until he submitted, leaning into Billy’s body like he knew Steve would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My turn. Never have I ever...” one of his hands crept out, resting on Billy’s upper thigh as he thought about what he was going to say. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ve done so much. Why didn’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span> me I’m a slut, Rob?” Robin laughed, shrugging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Figured you knew.” He rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never have I ever, broken a bone.” Billy and Robin drank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fell out of a tree when I was eight. Cracked my arm in two places,” Robin offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Broke a few ribs once. Fell down some stairs.” He felt Steve stiffen beneath his arm. They had discussed Billy’s father a few times, when Billy would have anxiety attacks if he heard men yelling, when he would flinch at unexpected touches. Steve knew Billy didn’t fall down the stairs. He knew Billy had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>pushed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s phone began ringing, vibrating madly on the desk turned table. He picked it up, sighing deeply at the contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my fucking mother.” He answered the call, detangling himself from Billy, stepping out into the hallway to take it. They could hear his muffled voice going off in rapid-fire Italian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like, three in the morning. Why the fuck is his mom calling?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think they’re somewhere in Europe? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>they’re never home.” She was cracking open a new beer for herself when Steve came storming back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She keeps fucking calling me. They’re gonna be in town for Thanksgiving, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>apparently</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she wants me to come home for break so that my dad and I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>makeup</span>
  </em>
  <span> or whatever. She keeps telling me that they’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>talked about my lifestyle choices</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>come around</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Which, like, first of all, I don’t know if by </span>
  <em>
    <span>lifestyle choices</span>
  </em>
  <span> she means me studying dance out here, or the fact that I’ve finally been able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>express </span>
  </em>
  <span>myself properly, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And secondly, my dad has </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> come around. They’re just having a big party and a bunch of my dad’s colleagues and some really big </span>
  <em>
    <span>Indiana</span>
  </em>
  <span> people will be there, like the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>governor</span>
  </em>
  <span> and they just want me to come and smile all nice and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretend</span>
  </em>
  <span> that we’re a happy fucking family, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>do it.” He was pacing back and forth, the light dress he had on breezing behind his legs. He turned abruptly, digging through Robin's freezer until he found a bottle of vodka, taking a few pulls and shuddering heavily after each.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy could feel the night taking a turn.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Développé</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Do you think I’m a fuck up?”<br/>It was a quiet whisper, pushed barely into Billy’s skin.<br/>“Of course I don’t think you’re a fuck up. Why would I think you’re a fuck up?”<br/>“I think I’m a fuck up. My parents think I’m a fuck up.” Billy’s hand slipped under the shirt, rubbing up Steve’s back, feeling the nobs of his spine, the bumps of his ribs. Steve had the epitome of a ballerina body, was long and so thin. His legs were well-muscled, his arms toned, but he had no fat on him, was sharp and boney.<br/>“You’re not a fuck up. You work hard, got yourself here, keep yourself here. This is one of the best schools for art in the country. How can you be a fuck up if you’re here, studying your passion, if you’re happy?” He felt Steve shrug.<br/>“Sometimes I think it would’ve been easier just to do what my dad wanted. Be what my dad wanted. Sometimes I think he wouldn’t be so disappointed in me all the time.”</p><p>-</p><p>Steve is drunk and sad.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: discussions of eating disorders, bulimia, self-induced vomiting. Please take care of yourselves.</p><p> </p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Steve was sad he got sloppy drunk. And when Steve got sloppy drunk he got <em>slutty</em>.</p><p>When they arrived in Billy’s room, chosen because drunk sloppy slutty Steve was going to be a menace and Ethan, Billy’s roommate, spent most nights with his girlfriend, an RA with a private room, Steve was <em> all over </em> Billy. He kept leaning in close murmuring that he wanted to feel those piercing inside of him telling Billy he could do <em>whatever</em> he wanted<em>, </em> that <em> he’s open to try stuff. </em></p><p>Billy was rock hard in his jeans, but he knew Steve was drunk, and sad, and looking for someone to make him feel <em>wanted</em>, taken <em>care of</em>. So Billy sat him down, holding his shoulders at arm’s length on the bed.</p><p>“Stevie, I’m not gonna have sex with you like this, not while you’re outta your mind, not while you’re just looking for <em>anyone </em> . I’ll let you sleep here, and we can cuddle, and I’ll hold you <em> tight </em> if you wanna cry or anything, but I don’t wanna have sex unless you’re head’s on <em> right </em>.” Steve was pouting, making Billy’s resolve weaken.</p><p>“But <em> Billy</em>, you’re so <em> hot</em>, and I <em> always </em> wanna have sex with you, I’m not just looking for <em> anyone </em> .” He tried to lean closer into Billy. “You <em> know </em> I’m <em> real </em> flexible.” He tried to wink, closing both eyes. Billy laughed.</p><p>“Never while you’re drunk, Baby. Never while you're drunk.”</p><p>“<em> Fine</em>. Then can I sleep in your one shirt? The Mötley Crüe one?” The shirt was worn thin, a vintage one he found in his mom’s stuff. It was so <em>soft </em> , and loose on Billy, so it was large on Steve’s lithe frame. He once told Billy he liked borrowing it because it made him feel <em>small,</em> like he was a delicate girl in her boyfriend’s stolen shirt. After about two months of friendship, Billy had come to realize that feeling small, soft, delicate, <em>pretty</em> is all Steve really ever wanted. That’s why he was so femme, he had once explained. Feminity is often synonymous with small, soft, delicate, pretty. Not that it <em>has </em>to be, but that’s the way Steve feels best, feels most himself, in makeup and pastel skirts.</p><p>Billy found him the shirt, ditching his own clothes for just a pair of boxers. He handed Steve a makeup wipe from the stash Billy now kept on his desk, Steve smiling softly at it, removing the eyeshadow, pretty shades of shimmery pink blended to perfection, and stole some of Billy’s lotion, lotion he d purchased for Billy with a shriek of <em>you need to moisturize! </em></p><p>Billy eventually slid under the covers, Steve joining him shortly after, he had switched his dress for Billy’s shirt, the oversized material <em> just </em> covering the blue cotton panties, trimmed with lace. Soft, delicate, <em> pretty </em>.</p><p>Billy pulled him in close, Steve tangling their legs together, face planted into Billy’s shoulder, hands flexing along his sides.</p><p>“Do you think I’m a fuck up?”</p><p>It was a quiet whisper, pushed barely into Billy’s skin.</p><p>“Of course I don’t think you’re a fuck up. Why would I think you’re a fuck up?”</p><p>“<em> I </em> think I’m a fuck up. My <em> parents </em> think I’m a fuck up.” Billy’s hand slipped under the shirt, rubbing up Steve’s back, feeling the nobs of his spine, the bumps of his ribs. Steve had the epitome of a ballerina body, was long and so <em> thin </em> . His legs were well-muscled, his arms toned, but he had <em> no </em> fat on him, was sharp and boney.</p><p>“You’re not a fuck up. You work hard, got yourself here, <em> keep </em> yourself here. This is one of the best schools for art in the <em> country </em> . How can you be a fuck up if you’re here, studying your passion, if you’re <em> happy </em>?” He felt Steve shrug.</p><p>“Sometimes I think it would’ve been easier just to do what my dad wanted. <em> Be </em> what my dad wanted. Sometimes I think he wouldn’t be so disappointed in me all the time.”</p><p>“He’d be disappointed regardless, Pretty Boy. It <em> sucks </em> , but deep down, I think you know that. Our dads weren’t <em> made </em> for <em> anything </em> but disappointment. So you know what, fuck him. Fuck him! Keep working your ass off and <em> make </em> something of yourself. Give him something he can’t <em> ever </em> be disappointed in.” He squeezed Steve even closer. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. The only thing that matters is what the people that <em> love </em>you think.”</p><p>“But that’s just <em> it </em> . I don’t know if <em> anyone </em> loves me. I just keep picking people that <em> never </em> love me back and if fucking <em> sucks </em>, Bill.”</p><p>“How very bold of you to say no one loves you when I’m here, holding you like this. When I fucking <em> love </em> you. When Robin loves you <em> so much </em> , she’d probably kill someone for you. When those kids back in Hawkins <em> love you </em> . You know that Dustin and I DM on Instagram almost every day? He just likes to ask about you, how you’re doing, make sure you’re okay. When he thought we were dating he interrogated me on my <em> intentions </em> to make sure I wouldn’t hurt you. You are <em> so loved </em> , Steve, it’s fucking <em> amazing </em>.” Steve sniffed,  burying his face further into Billy’s shoulder.</p><p>“I, um-thanks, Bill. I lo-I love you too.” There was a silence for a minute. Billy’s heart swelled. “You’re my best friend.” And his heart deflated. Of <em> course </em> , Steve only saw them as friends. Of <em> course </em> , when he said <em> I love you </em> , he meant <em> I love that you’re my friend </em> . It was fucking <em> stupid </em> that Billy thought otherwise.</p><p>“Let’s just go to sleep. It’s been a long week.” Steve hummed and they drifted off.</p><p> </p><p>Billy woke up early the next morning. The sky was still dark, the edges of the rising sun just touching over the horizon. He scrubbed a hand down his face, his bed empty from the mess of Steve curled into him. Steve’s dress from the night before was still neatly placed over his desk chair, so he can’t have gone far. Billy pulled on a pair of sweats, slipping into some sandals he kept for the bathroom, noticing the other pair gone. </p><p>He stumbled down the hall, still disoriented from waking up and pushed his way into the bathroom. He scrunched up his face, being assaulted with the rancid smell of vomit. He could hear someone coughing. Sighing, he made his way to the stall.</p><p>“Stevie? Is that you.” He was met with a groan.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s me.” </p><p>“You okay in there?” He pushed at the stall door, not expecting it to swing open.</p><p>Steve was crouched in front of the toilet, hair pulled off his face in one of Billy’s bright scrunchies. He was still wearing the t-shirt, but had also dug out a pair of Billy’s sweats. He had his hand in his mouth, two fingers shoved down his throat before he gagged, pulled them out to make room to empty his stomach into the toilet.</p><p>“Steve, <em> no</em>.” Billy sat down behind him, rubbing down his back, feeling how tense it was. He grabbed his wrist when he tried to bring his hand back to his mouth. “Baby, stop.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>, Billy just let me-” he was crying, tears running down his face as he tried to pull his hand free. “I had so much <em> beer </em> last night, and, and <em> three </em> slices of pizza, Billy I <em> need </em> to-” Billy pulled his wrist, bringing Steve into his chest, leaning up to flush the toilet before continuing to rub Steve’s back. </p><p>“Baby, no. I’m not gonna let you do that.” He shushed him as Steve started crying, loudly and openly. They sat like that, pathetically curled around one another in a bathroom stall until Steve was able to take in a breath that wasn’t jagged and painful. “Please talk to me. Tell me what’s happening.” Billy murmured into his hair.</p><p>“I have to, I have to be <em> perfect </em> , Billy.” Billy’s shriveled heart shattered. He blinked tears out of his own eyes. “I need, they’ll <em> love me </em> if I’m perfect.”</p><p>“Stevie, this isn’t-this isn’t <em> okay </em> .” He gathered him tighter. “You gotta, you <em> can’t </em> keep doing this.” He felt Steve’s weight give into him completely, sagging against Billy.</p><p>“I <em> know </em> , but I can’t, I can’t <em> stop </em> . I gotta be <em> perfect </em>.” Billy lifted him up, taking them back into his room, setting Steve on the bed, wiping off his mouth, his hands while Steve just watched him, staring, big brown eyes dull and empty. They curled back into bed together, Steve between Billy and the wall this time. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Bill. I know-I get it, if you’re mad at me, or if, if you don’t wanna be my friend anymore, I get it.” His throat was getting tight again, tears flooding his eyes. “I’m more of a mess than I actually let on.”</p><p>“Baby, of <em> course </em> , I still wanna be your friend. I’m more of a mess than I let on too. And I’m not <em> mad </em> at you or <em> disappointed </em> or anything. Baby my heart’s fucking <em> broken </em> for you. I’m sad you can’t see yourself as perfect as everyone <em> else </em> does. As <em> I </em> do.” Steve whimpered, crying all over again into Billy who just held him, brushing away his own tears.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am in NO WAY saying that all dancers/ballerinas struggle with body issues and eating disorders, but I DID know a LOT of people in my ballet days that struggled and I felt that it fit the character I was creating for Steve in this story (there is more to come on that front)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Grand Battement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The first day of December brought Steve’s twentieth birthday and Billy’s first snowfall. <br/>It was a Saturday, so Robin, Heather, Billy, and Steve took off work, quit studying, and spent the day in Robin’s dorm, drinking hot chocolate spiked with peppermint Schnapps, stupid party hats on their heads. </p><p>-</p><p>Everyone gets drunk and plays strip poker.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first day of December brought Steve’s twentieth birthday and Billy’s first snowfall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a Saturday, so Robin, Heather, Billy, and Steve took off work, quit studying, and spent the day in Robin’s dorm, drinking hot chocolate spiked with peppermint Schnapps, stupid party hats on their heads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had been doing better lately, spending two hours a week with a therapist covered by the school’s insurance. Some days were better than others, and on the days he couldn’t cope, had slipped and forced fingers down his throat, he came to Billy, and they wrapped themselves around each other and Billy rubbed his back and let Steve cry and told he wasn’t mad, he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He would hold Steve’s hand as he called his therapist, as he quickly told Natalie that he slipped. He would force Steve into one of his own sweatshirts and tell him that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>proud</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him for being honest, that it was all part of recovery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin had begun decorating her room for Christmas, a small plastic tree covered in lights, tinsel strung around the room, and had even placed a menorah on the window sill, candles unlit. Steve had laughed and hugged her tightly when he saw it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told Dustin I was thinking of staying here for break, and I think he had an aneurysm.” Steve was sipping at his spiked hot chocolate, wrapped up in one of Robin’s many extra blankets, her room </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> devoid of someone else. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> any excuse to get dressed up, had spent probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours</span>
  </em>
  <span> on his makeup, his hair steadily getting longer as his dad wasn’t around to tell him to get it cut. He had on a green faux velvet dress, with gold polka dots. He was wearing black tights and had stolen Billy's black motorcycle boots, the ones with fur lining Billy bought when he realized that it gets </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> in New York. “He said I could stay with him, so that I don’t have to see my parents, but I don’t think they’re gonna be in town anyway. They haven’t come home for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hanukkah</span>
  </em>
  <span> in like, five years, and so they’re not gonna go out of their way to come home for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christmas</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He looked bitter. “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> kinda feel bad ditching the kids. They were sad I wasn’t around for Thanksgiving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I’ll be around there, too. Honestly, though, Hawkins sucks for you, and the kids would understand. Plus, your therapist is here, which is as good an excuse as any. I bet </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> would chill Dustin </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> out.” Steve nodded at Robin’s words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You goin’ home for break?” He directed at Heather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, my parents are </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> excited for me to come home. It’s gonna be a pretty nice visit, I think.” Heather was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> close with her parents, the opposite of Steve’s, rich folks that had a kid because they loved each other and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> a baby, not just because it’s what they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do. Not just because their marriage is falling apart and they want something that may fix it, something to blame if it doesn’t. “You’re staying here, right Billy? Did Public Safety get back to you about allowing you to stay in the dorms?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, they did. Max is pissed off at me, hasn’t talked to me in like, a week, but I think she understands. It’s not like I’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>welcome</span>
  </em>
  <span> at home. She said Neil’s been okay to her, but he’ll get drunk and start going off about how ungrateful I am, that I walked all over him or some shit.” He rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t tell me you were staying here.” Steve’s eyes were wide. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> Christmas! You’re gonna be all by yourself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. Really, Pretty Boy. Only liked Christmas when my mom was around to make it nice, spent all the others after she was gone walking on eggshells trying not to set my dad off and counting the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>minutes</span>
  </em>
  <span> till I could get outta the house and go for a drive. It’ll be okay to have some time to myself. Was thinkin’ ‘bout getting Max out here for New Years’. She’d fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to go to Time’s Square.” Steve smiled at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be really nice for you two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She could stay here! If Ethan decides to show his face in your dorm for once.” Robin offered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, I doubt I’m ever gonna see him again, Rob. I’m not mad though. Hell, if I was gettin’ regular ass I probably wouldn’t ever be in my room either.” Billy grinned as everyone laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, Billy? Dry spell?” Heather smirked at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuckin’ idea. Wasn’t I supposed to come out to New York City and let my little gay flag fly? Wasn’t that like, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>deal</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be fair, I’m probably cockblocking you plenty.” Steve was chewing on the inside of his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m just bein’ a bitch about it. I like you in my bed.” Steve’s neck went a pretty shade of red. Every time he blushed, it began on his upper chest, spreading up to his ears. Billy </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> watching it creep higher, and had to shake himself every time he thought of </span>
  <em>
    <span>tasting</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. Robin and Heather exchanged a look, had been spending more time together discussing how they were going to push these two idiots into one another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well if you two are done being </span>
  <em>
    <span>gay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, we have presents for Steve.” Steve brightened, excited like a kid at the idea of birthday presents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Gimme gimme!” He made grabby hands at the gifts Robin had taken off her desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin had gotten him a few things, some serious, some decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve cooed over the photographs she had framed of them together, him and his kids, him and Billy, even one of the four of them when they went to the Empire State Building. He gushed over the hairclips, the pretty florals, and colors, and even replaced one of his own bobby pins holding back his hair with a pretty gold one. His face went </span>
  <em>
    <span>red</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he started coughing through a laugh at the <em>dildo</em> Robin had placed in the bag, stopping suddenly and stuffing it back in when he noticed the way she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>modified</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. Luckily, Billy </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen the way she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>pierced</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. Getting the idea the night Billy had shown them all his jewelry and Steve had called her the next day nearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying</span>
  </em>
  <span> over how </span>
  <em>
    <span>badly</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wanted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robin, you are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>nightmare</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He gave her a hug anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heather had gotten him a large eyeshadow palette. Billy didn't realize this, but <em>apparently</em>, Morphe was a nice brand, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>expensive</span>
  </em>
  <span> given how Steve sputtered when he pulled out the brush set in another box. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Heather, thank you so much!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t stand by and let you use that drugstore shit </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> longer.” They laughed as Robin and Billy looked at each other. Robin kept to her black pencil liner and mascara, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> time Billy had been in makeup was when Steve’s eyes had lit up and he said </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bill, lemme put you in a full face</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened Billy’s last, giving him sultry looks through his false lashes as he picked up the bag. Robin rolled her eyes. He opened it, his brows furrowing. He pulled out the pointe shoes. There were two pairs, brand new and unsewn. Billy had snuck into his bag for the size and forked over </span>
  <em>
    <span>several</span>
  </em>
  <span> paychecks for the new ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said your other ones were dead, and that they should’ve been retired, like a few </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago. They’re the same as the old ones, and there’s ribbon and elastic and stuff in there too.” Steve was just holding them. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> how expensive pointe shoes are, hence the reason why he had been using the same ones for so long despite the fact the hard plaster box had broken down and gone soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bill, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He carefully placed them in the bag, throwing himself at Billy to hug him tightly. “I’m gonna sew these </span>
  <em>
    <span>tomorrow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He pulled back, kissing Billy on the forehead, laughing and wiping at the perfect lipstick mark that had been left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, Stevie. Twenty shots for twenty years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robin that’s gonna kill me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made it through five shots before tapping out completely, the others taking five each.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night devolved pretty quickly after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were all drunk when Heather yelled for strip poker. Steve was pissed, wearing fewer articles of clothing than everyone else and </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>made sure to whine about as often as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy was the first to throw in a shoe, Heather matching his bet with her chunky sweater, Robin and Steve chose to fold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several rounds past before a falsely confident Steve lost his dress entirely, pouting loudly in a pair of tights. Billy took off his own shirt and threw it at Steve with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, Princess, save your modesty then</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He lost his tights quickly after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they retired the game, everyone was in varying states of undress. Heather was in just a thong, taking up Robin’s bed topless, not bothering to cover herself at all. She had glared at Billy and said </span>
  <em>
    <span>why can your nipples be out but mine can’t? Equality assface</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he told her to put her tits away, so now he thinks it’s a matter of principle. Robin had only lost her socks and her t-shirt, sitting at the end of her own bed in leggings and a pretty lace bralette, trying </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to gawk at Heather. Billy had a blanket strategically placed over his dick when Robin had squawked at it, and kept a single sock on. He and Steve were taking up the opposite bed, Steve laying across his lap in just underwear, Billy rubbing at his hip bone above the lace waistband of his baby pink panties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Truth or truth, Heather.” Their game of Truth or Dare had ended up like this when they all got too lazy to get up for any dares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Billy, that’s a tricky question there, but I think I’m gonna have to go with truth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, who was the last person you hooked up with?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katie, from our partnering class. Like, a week and a half ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, good for you. At least someone here is gettin’ some.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robin, what’s your guilty pleasure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am guilty about none of my pleasures, BUT, not many people know that I actually really love ‘Nynsc and I always will.” Heather laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy, if you could be born in any other decade, which would it be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The 80s, for sure. I mean, like born before that to be like, a teenager in the mid-80s. I love old school metal and 80s glam rock, and all that good shit. I think if I could see all the bands like, in their </span>
  <em>
    <span>prime</span>
  </em>
  <span> that would be so sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but like, the AIDs crisis.” Robin raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then I wanna live in an idyllic 80s fantasy where everything is perfect, homophobia doesn’t exist, Reagan was never president and it’s all just hair bands and happiness.” Steve giggles. “What about you Princess? Truth or truth.” He blinked up at Billy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing you’ve ever done? Like, have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> done something illegal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m underage drinking right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> illegal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> shoplifted some nail polish from the Forever 21 at the mall outside of Hawkins, but then I felt way too bad about it and almost had an anxiety attack and had to put it back.” He beamed as Billy laughed, his hand rubbing Steve’s stomach. The shots of shitty vodka had made everything warm and soft. Steve shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You cold?” Steve nodded, his eyes big. Billy shifted back, pulling Steve’s limp, long body with the movement, settling him under the thick blanket between his legs. They were pressed together and Billy suddenly remembered that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>naked</span>
  </em>
  <span> against Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, Robin, if you had to make out with any Disney character, who would it be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God damn Belle, she’s so fucking hot and she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>smart</span>
  </em>
  <span> too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good choice.” Steve hummed, Billy could feel it through his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather, what is your biggest and most irrational fear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always get really freaked out by eating peanut butter, you know when it gets stuck to the roof of your mouth, it’s so gross and I can’t eat peanut butter because it freaks me out </span>
  <em>
    <span>so badly</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy could feel Steve giggling more than he heard it. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>willed</span>
  </em>
  <span> his dick to stay soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They kept trading silly questions, Billy spending the whole night trying not to get hard against Steve’s back. Eventually, Heather fell asleep, still topless in Robin’s bed, as none of them had bothered getting dressed. Steve and Billy were sharing the extra bed, spooned together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy woke up at some ungodly hour. Steve had shifted at some point, was facing into Billy making soft noises into his neck. Billy groaned as Steve rutted against him, his cock hard against Billy’s hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, you awake?” Steve grunted. “Stevie, you with me?” Steve snuffled, his hips stilling. He went tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy? I’m sor-I was asleep, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He shuddered as Billy ground his hips up. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? This okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s-Bill, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He moved his face back into Billy’s neck, letting his hips move with Billy’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gotta stay quiet, Princess. Don’t wake the girls up.” Billy’s hand trailed down his back, dipping into the back of his panties. Steve whimpered as one finger dipped down, trailing softly over his hole. “Tell me to stop. Say it and I will.” Steve shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t stop, Bill.” He pressed, just a little, not wanting the dryness to hurt Steve. “I’m, I’m not gonna last.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cum for me. I wanna see how pretty you look.” Steve shuddered, finding release with Billy whispering how beautiful he is into his hair, one finger pressed just </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely</span>
  </em>
  <span> inside. He ducked under the blanket, trailing down until he took Billy into his mouth, moaning softly at the feeling of the metal on his tongue. Billy threaded a hand into his messy hair, just gripping, letting Steve set his own quick pace. Steve took him down, swallowing around him, his tongue moving along the bottom of his dick, bumping on the piercings underneath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie,” Billy murmured, his hand tightening in his hair. “Baby, I’m real close.” Steve just hummed, taking Billy in deep as he came in his mouth. Steve moved back up, turning his back to Billy and settling in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Bill.” Billy tightened his arms around, kissing the smooth skin at his neck, wishing he could taste his full lips, find his own taste in his soft mouth. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Frappé</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve didn’t fall asleep after wiggling back into Billy’s arms.<br/>At some point, while Billy was cumming down his throat, he remembered that night in November, when Steve was drunk, and sad, and slutty, and Billy had said that he didn’t want to have sex with Steve.<br/>He laid there, tense until Billy went back to sleep, before getting out of bed and finding his clothes, just shoving his dress back on and slipping out the door, tights in hand.<br/>He felt fucking awful.</p><p>-</p><p>A little glimpse into Steve's perspective</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>2 days late bc I'm a demon.<br/>Steve's pov ✌️</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve didn’t fall asleep after wiggling back into Billy’s arms.</p><p>At <em>some point</em>, while Billy was cumming down his throat, he remembered that night in November, when Steve was drunk, and sad, and <em>slutty</em>, and Billy had said that he <em>didn’t</em> want to have sex with Steve.</p><p>He laid there, tense until Billy went back to sleep, before getting out of bed and finding his clothes, just shoving his dress back on and slipping out the door, tights in hand.</p><p>He felt fucking <em>awful</em>.</p><p>He’s has a <em>huge</em> thing for Billy since the very first time he saw him, walking out of the advisor’s office, glaring at his schedule. </p><p>He was <em>everything</em> Steve found ridiculously <em>attractive</em> in a person, was wearing a faded t-shirt and denim cutoffs, a flannel shirt tied around his waist. He carried this <em>ethereal</em> beauty with him, not to mention his thick fucking <em>thighs</em>, Steve took <em>one</em> look at him and wanted to sink his teeth into that thick muscle.</p><p>He nearly <em>shit himself</em> when Billy walked into ballet class that first morning, looking tired and pissed off in his cut-up shirt, exposing <em>tattoos</em>. And then he <em>talked</em> to Steve, and it turned out, he was an <em>asshole</em>, but then the party, and it turned out he <em>wasn’t</em>, and then they were <em>friends</em>.</p><p>That first day they spent together, was like something out of a romcom. They were giggling around the city, taking pictures of each other, and having <em>fun</em>. Steve had gone <em>straight </em>to Robin’s place after and had nearly fucking <em>cried</em> from how much he was falling in <em>love</em> with Billy.</p><p>And Billy, he never <em>faltered</em>. He was soft with Steve, had opened up to him about the abuse he had dealt with throughout his adolescence. He would be honest with Steve when he was on the edge of panic.</p><p>The first time he witnessed Billy have a panic attack was at work.</p><p>Steve had helped him get a job at the bookstore. The other employees were, well they weren’t <em>rude</em> to Steve, he <em>gets</em> that sometimes people don’t know what to make of him, of the name <em>Steve</em> accompanied by lots of makeup and soft dresses. </p><p>But it was <em>fun</em> working with Billy. They would make fun of each other, talk about shitty customers when the store was slow. </p><p>It was a slow day when the family came in with their prospective student. They were looking for some school merchandise<em> much </em>to the chagrin of the father. He kept sighing, grumbling about <em>why</em> they were spending <em>so much</em> money on NYU merch, when <em>he may not ever get into the damn school, Lorraine</em>.</p><p>Billy’s eyes were <em>sharp</em>, he tracked the family through the store, tracked the grumpy <em>father</em>.</p><p>Steve had never <em>seen him</em> like this, like some kind of animal, staring down a potential predator, watching for a <em>threat</em>. Steve <em>also</em> realized with a choking feeling, Billy was in some way <em>always</em> keeping <em>his</em> body between the man and Steve, ready to <em>protect</em>.</p><p>And then one of the kids knocked over a display. The rack of shirts went thundering to the ground.</p><p>“Are you <em>serious</em>? You better clean that up!” Steve had rushed forward to help, smiling sweetly and saying <em>it’s just shirts, don’t worry! </em>not realizing the way Billy had sped off to the break room. </p><p>Steve found him a few minutes later, pacing the room, hands tugging through his curls.</p><p>“Bill?” His eyes were wild, red-rimmed. “Are you okay?” His chest was heaving.</p><p>“Sorry, I just, when the noise, and then, then he started <em>yelling</em> and I just, I had to get <em>outta</em> there, Stevie. I’m <em>sorry</em>.”</p><p>“Hey, don’t apologize. I understand, Bill. It's okay. Take all the time you need.” Billy had thrown himself heavily into a chair, had bent over so his head was between his thighs. “Can I give you a hug? Or would that like, be <em>bad</em>?” Billy looked up at him blearily.</p><p>“I, not right now. I’m <em>sor-”</em></p><p>“It’s okay, Billy. I just, that was my instinct, but I didn’t wanna, wanna make it <em>worse</em>. It’s okay. Take your time.” He slipped back outta the room, but stayed close to the door, didn’t go out and pretend to straighten displays like he <em>would’ve</em> on a usual slow Thursday evening. </p><p>He had no idea what to <em>do</em>.</p><p>With his <em>own</em> anxiety attacks, he <em>needed</em> physical comfort, needed to be <em>held </em>as tightly as possible. But he <em>understood</em>. With the <em>nature</em> of Billy’s trigger, he got why Billy wouldn’t want to be touched, that’s why he had <em>asked</em>, but he felt entirely <em>useless</em> standing outside like this.</p><p>BIlly re-emerged after close to half an hour. His face was blotchy, and his hair was disheveled, but he looked okay.</p><p>“I could go for that hug right about now.” Steve nearly tripped in his rush to embrace Billy, to hold him. “Thanks.” It was muffled, said into Steve’s shoulder.</p><p>“Of course, Bill.”</p><p>So Steve was truly, madly, <em>deeply</em> in love with Billy.</p><p>And it sucked because Billy didn’t feel the same. But then, he had held Steve <em>close</em>, had rutted into him back, had been soft and gentle as he pressed a finger into Steve, had gasped softly as Steve swallowed him down.</p><p>But he was half <em>asleep</em>, and Steve had just, had let his attraction get the <em>better</em> of him.</p><p>He had been woken up by Billy’s soft voice, his soft <em>hands</em>. </p><p>He realized, maybe <em>too late</em>, that he’d been having a fucking <em>sex dream</em>, about Billy, about cold metal piercings, about sharp blue eyes. He woke up grinding into Billy, and then, and then, Billy did it <em>back</em>.</p><p>He was as gentle with Steve as he <em>always</em> is, had told him <em>tell me to stop. Say it and I will</em>.</p><p>And Steve <em>wanted</em>. He wanted so <em>bad</em> that he forgot that Billy <em>didn’t</em>.</p><p>“Rob, I just, I feel <em>disgusting</em>.”</p><p>He had come back to Robin’s dorm that evening, had spent the whole shitty <em>day</em> in a spiral of anxiety. Had put fingers down his throat <em>two</em> separate times. </p><p>“Dingus, I <em>honestly</em> don’t know what to tell you.” She was watching Steve pace back and forth between the two beds. “You need to talk to <em>him</em>.”</p><p>“I just, he <em>told me</em> he <em>didn’t</em> want to have sex with me, and here <em>I</em> come, just sucking his<em> dick</em> like a fucking <em>whore</em>-”</p><p>“Jesus, Steve. Can you calm <em>down</em> for a second? Didn’t you say he fingered you <em>first</em>? Which, <em>unfortunately</em>, I <em>know</em>, because you always tell me <em>every detail</em> of <em>everything</em> ever.”</p><p>“I mean, <em>yeah</em> he <em>did</em>, but I, Robin I think I, he was <em>drunk</em>, and I <em>used him</em>.”</p><p>“Steve, he is the <em>only</em> person that can tell you what he was feeling. To <em>me</em>, it sounded like he was consenting and <em>willing, </em>but I’m not in his head, I don’t’ <em>know</em>. So <em>please</em>, talk to him.”</p><p>“But if I, if I <em>do</em> talk to him, then he’s just, he’s gonna tell me it was <em>fun</em>, but that he doesn’t feel the <em>same</em> and I’m, I think I ruined <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>“You’ll never know if you <em>don’t</em>. You <em>know</em> I think he’s <em>totally</em> into you. You might be surprised.”</p><p>But Steve didn’t want to <em>risk it</em>, chose instead to avoid Billy at every turn. He switched shifts so that he wouldn’t have to work with him at the bookstore, stopped saving him a spot in class, left before Billy could corner him.</p><p>He <em>knew</em> it was childish, but it was also just, <em>easier</em>. Ignore the problem until it goes away. Until it can’t hurt you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Temps Liés</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Would you want to come to Hawkins with me for break? I’m taking a bus back, and it was pretty cheap, and my parents won’t be there, and I just thought it could be kinda fun. Like, I could show you around, a bit. I mean, if you wanna stay here and pick up extra shifts, that’s totally cool too, I just figured I’d ask.”<br/>“That actually sounds pretty good.” Steve’s eyes brightened.<br/>“Really? You’d wanna come? You can stay in my house, we have, like, guest rooms and stuff.”<br/>“Yeah, I’ll come out. I’d love to see this place you and Robin are always goin’ on about.” Steve was wiggling around now, like he always did when he was too excited to contain himself.</p><p>-</p><p>Steve and Billy talk things out, and make it to Hawkins.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The prodigal bitch returns.<br/>Haven't updated in a while, but I should be here with consistent updates from here on out. Thank you to everyone that held on with me. Hope you enjoy 💕</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Billy woke up for real the next morning, he was alone in the bed. Steve’s clothes were gone, Heather and Robin still asleep and tangled up. He dressed quietly, slipping out the door. As he made his way to his dorm, he thought about the night before. He was worried about Steve, worried he was drunk and sleepy, that Billy had taken </span>
  <em>
    <span>advantage</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He called Max.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I know it’s early and I’m sorry, but I just need to talk and I need you to listen quietly and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> judge me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, I can do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, yesterday was Steve’s birthday, and we ended up all getting drunk, and we had a good day, and we played strip poker, and we were just hanging out together, not bothering to get dressed, and he was being all </span>
  <em>
    <span>touchy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like he always is, and we ended up sleeping together, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but then I woke up to him </span>
  <em>
    <span>starting things</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I fingered him, and then he gave me a blowjob, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he got really weird, and wouldn’t look at me and left before I got up this morning, and I’m worried that I like, took </span>
  <em>
    <span>advantage</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him, I mean, he was drunk, and sometimes when he’s drunk he’ll get kinda </span>
  <em>
    <span>slutty</span>
  </em>
  <span> and like, throw himself at me, usually only when he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span> and drunk, and he had a good time last night, and he was okay yesterday, but now I just feel like </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> worried I hurt him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She dragged out the word. “I don’t really know what to say here, Billy. I mean, did you, like did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him about it before or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like, told him to tell me if he wanted to stop, and he said </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but like, if he was just drunk and didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> was going on and it just felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but now he regrets it. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> he doesn’t have feelings for me, or anything, I mean he </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> he likes someone, so I’m worried that I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucked everything up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you scared he’s not gonna want to be your friend after this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>give</span>
  </em>
  <span> a shit about that, I mean, like, I’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span> if he didn’t, but like, I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>live </span>
  </em>
  <span>with that. I’m worried that I just fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>assaulted </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy, you need to talk to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You said to tell you to stop if he didn’t want it, so to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it sounds like you had his consent, but I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I can’t speak for what he was thinking.” Billy was nodding vigorously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’ll see if I can talk to him about it. I’ll let you get back to sleep. I’m sorry, Max.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to apologize to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Doofus. Talk to him. I hope everything is okay for you two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too, max. Thanks. Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too, even though you’re a monster that calls me at four in the morning to say that you fingered the guy you’ve had a stupid crush on for </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He laughed as she hung up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve avoided him for the next few days. He didn’t text back, didn’t reserve Billy a spot at barre in ballet class anymore, putting on his big headphones before Billy could ask to speak with him. Billy tried extremely hard </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get pissed off. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had no right to be mad, but it was <em>frustrating</em>. He sent Steve numerous texts, asking Steve if they could talk, saying he was sorry, and begging him just for a phone call. He had even switched shifts at the bookstore last minute so that he didn’t have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Billy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, on Thursday, Robin came through. Steve had gone to her, nervously explaining what had happened after his birthday, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt he had taken advantage of Billy. He told her about when they got drunk together in November, how Billy said he didn’t want to have sex with Steve. He felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and frankly didn’t want to face Billy, knowing he was just going to explain that he didn’t feel the same way. He hadn’t slept afterward, waiting for Billy to fall asleep before bolting, not wanting to face the morning after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was at Robin’s when Billy showed up, wearing a too-big sweatshirt and a pair of baggy jeans, hair undone and face makeup-free, the absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>picture</span>
  </em>
  <span> of sadness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Steve, I’ll make this real quick, I understand if you don’t wanna see me, anymore.” Robin slipped out the door, leaving Steve looking panicked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, why wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to see you anymore?” Billy gaped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>asleep</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I, I fucking took </span>
  <em>
    <span>advantage </span>
  </em>
  <span>of you, Steve, and I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t, you didn’t do that! You woke me up </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing anything, and you, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to tell you to stop and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> said that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> want you to stop. It’s, it’s okay, Bill, I’m really fine.” Billy’s shoulders sagged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I was so scared that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.” He sat down on Robin’s bed, looking at Steve. “I’m still sorry. Can we be friends again though? Just forget about it and </span>
  <em>
    <span>move on</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Steve’s smile was small, but he nodded and Billy felt okay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Friday they were back to normal, getting breakfast after ballet class, talking and laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I um, wanted to ask you something.” Steve was playing with his food, pushing the yogurt around in the bowl. He had eaten a few bites of Billy’s eggs, which made him secretly </span>
  <em>
    <span>ecstatic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoot, Pretty Boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you want to come to Hawkins with me for break? I’m taking a bus back, and it was pretty cheap, and my parents won’t be there, and I just thought it could be kinda fun. Like, I could show you around, a bit. I mean, if you wanna stay here and pick up extra shifts, that’s totally cool too, I just figured I’d ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That actually sounds pretty good.” Steve’s eyes brightened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? You’d wanna come? You can stay in my house, we have, like, guest rooms and stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll come out. I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see this place you and Robin are always goin’ on about.” Steve was wiggling around now, like he always did when he was too excited to contain himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay! I can, I can send you a ticket, and you can see everything, and you can meet all the kids, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dustin</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’ll be so fun!” Billy couldn’t help grinning at Steve’s excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stayed together for the rest of the day after classes. Steve had a little menorah in his room with electric candles, so he brought it to Billy’s typically empty room. Lighting the sixth candle and taking a few moments to himself to recite some prayers, Billy secretly watching him as he pretended to do his homework. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What day do you leave?” Billy was looking at bus tickets to Indiana while Steve was draped dramatically on his bed, scrolling through his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The twenty-first at like, 6 pm.” He pulled up the ticket, sending it to Billy’s laptop. He bought a ticket on the same bus, spending an extra seven dollars to get the seat next to Steve’s. They were riding from New York City to Indianapolis, where they would switch to another bus to Hawkins. The whole trip would take about twenty-two hours, with stops in Pittsburgh and Columbus, but flights were expensive, and the two didn’t have parents that would help them with the money. Robin had offered to take the journey with Steve and cancel the flight her parents had purchased for her, but he had insisted he was fine taking the trip alone, until Billy joined him on the Greyhound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t get to celebrate the end of finals, Steve and Billy leaving quickly after Steve’s last final. Heather hugged them tightly, going home to St. Louis while the other three will be together in Hawkins. They boarded the bus, spending the first few hours playing games, watching Netflix on Steve’s phone. They slept a while, getting out at every stop to stretch out, documenting everything on Instagram, keeping their stories full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they switched onto the bus to Hawkins, Steve was nervous, vibrating in his seat, his hands flexing on his thighs. Billy pushed up the armrest up between them, tucking Steve under his arm. He had done what he could, making sure Steve ate, a hummus cup and a banana and a small bag of popcorn, not quite enough, but he didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make Steve’s anxiety that much </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was keeping his appointments with his therapist, Natalie, over the phone while he’s in Hawkins, preparing for the worst in a town that makes him hate himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrived at the bus station, and Steve’s face lit up, a small group of people waiting for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw Robin, who’s flight had gotten in several hours before they had, and he recognized Dustin from Instagram, the other kids he had seen in the pictures Steve kept in his dorm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve raced off the bus, the group attacking him in a big hug, Dustin’s mom waiting patiently for their turn. Billy had gotten both their bags from under the bus, bringing them over to the welcoming party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Billy!” Steve thrust him at everyone, Dustin’s mom, </span>
  <em>
    <span>call me Claudia, Sweetheart</span>
  </em>
  <span>,  hugging him after her own son, Robin messing with his hair until he batted her away, laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They piled their stuff into a few cars, Steve and Billy riding with Dustin and his mother, the other kids in Robin’s. They made their way to Steve’s house. Billy hadn’t realized quite how </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge</span>
  </em>
  <span> the house actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Steve only ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>vaguely</span>
  </em>
  <span> discussing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like so much of Steve just made </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way he would nervously chatter to fill any silence, the way he sought physical contact like he was forcing his way </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> into Billy’s bones. This huge empty house giving way to a sad lonely boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia dropped them all off, wanting to give the kids all time to catch up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were five kids, Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas, and Elle. Elle and Will were quiet, the other boys quite rowdy. They were all the same age as Max, and he couldn’t help missing her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They told Billy, Steve, and Robin about their high school tales, Steve squawking when they mentioned sneaking drinks, getting high. They would </span>
  <em>
    <span>kindly</span>
  </em>
  <span> remind him that he was their age when he began partying, to which Billy smirked, threw one arm over Steve’s shoulders with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>used to be a little party animal, eh Pretty Boy?</span>
  </em>
  <span> pausing that perfect blush to spread down Steve’s neck as he muttered </span>
  <em>
    <span>only kinda</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy was in the kitchen when there was a knock on the door. Steve yowled at him to open it. He was met with a thin girl, her eyes big and sad. She was pretty, like the girls in his ballet class are pretty. Untouchable kinda pretty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, um hi! Is Steve here? I’m Nancy.” Billy raised an eyebrow. He knew this bitch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nancy as in Nancy Wheeler?” She looked confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, yeah. Uh, sorry I don’t know who you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Billy. Steve’s friend from Tisch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay. I’m here to pick up Mike and Lucas, and thought I could, come and say ‘hi’.” Billy had to fight not to roll his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll grab the kids, you can wait here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, can’t I come in? I haven’t seen Steve in </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, not my house. I don’t get to say who comes in.” She huffed, her breath a thick fog trailing out of her mouth in the cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bill, who-” Steve peered over his shoulder. “Oh. Hey, Nancy.” Her big eyes trailed up and down Steve. He had done his makeup in the bus station in Indianapolis, was wearing a delicate lace crop top with his baggy mom jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, um, you look </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, thanks. I’ll get the kids.” He stomped off. Billy winked at her before flicking the door closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took great satisfaction in shutting the door, leaving her out in the cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mike, your sister’s here. She said she’s picking up Lucas too.” Steve was sitting low in the couch, his arms a knot over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you two just get over your beef so that I can stop feeling like a traitor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The second </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> wants to apologize for leading me on, telling me she never loved me, calling me bullshit, accusing me of cheating on her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheating on me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, being super close-minde-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay! Fine, be angry, I’ve stopped caring about it!” Lucas patted Mike on the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t even close with Nancy, why do you care if they make up?” They kept talking out the door. Steve was picking at a spot on his jeans, glaring at the little grease stain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elle looked up at Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy watched as she blinked up at him a few times. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Apparently</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she had been adopted by the Chief of Police after he had discovered her in an abusive home. Steve said she couldn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>read</span>
  </em>
  <span> and shit, and she was like, twelve years old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you do my makeup?” Steve </span>
  <em>
    <span>beamed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had told Billy this was something he had with Elle. When she came to live with the Chief, she had clung quickly to Steve. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretty girly things, and Chief Hopper was a little too gruff to figure out the makeup and things she liked, but he was a good man, didn’t mind dropping her off with Steve, her coming back with some of his old products, her face </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They moved up to Steve’s room, Steve and Elle sitting at the vanity so Steve could work on her, Will, Dustin, Robin, and Billy talking and laughing around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy liked the Hawkins bunch, the people that had become Steve’s family. They were kind and the most </span>
  <em>
    <span>supportive</span>
  </em>
  <span> people Billy ever met, loving Steve exactly as he is, taking care of him when he wasn’t okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Hopper had come to pick up Elle and Will, it was late, Robin heading home to be with her parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dustin rounded on Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing?” Steve was wiping off his own makeup, Elle had practiced on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like in college, with, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He glanced at Billy. Steve sighed turning around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy helped me find a therapist, I’ve been going twice a week, and I’ll keep my appointments over the phone while I’m here and I haven’t thrown up in like, two and a half weeks.” Steve had admitted to slipping a lot when he and Billy weren’t speaking for those five days, purging his body multiple times a day. “And Billy likes to remind me to eat and pretend I don’t know what he’s doing.” He winked at Billy, who faked a scowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, sorry for caring about you, I’ll stop.” Steve laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, like seriously. You’re okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Dustin. I’m really, I’m doing good out there. I mean, it sucks being away from you all, but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hawkins isn’t totally a good place for me. I love you all, and you’re my </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I just have more baggage here, more stressors.” Dustin nodded, his brow furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to make sure.” The doorbell rang, signaling Claudia returning to pick up Dustin. Steve bounded down the stairs to say ‘hello’ to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s really okay? Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, kid. He’s happy. And I know that it sucks, that he’s doing better, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>away</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but sometimes a fresh start is </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he still loves you, he just needs some </span>
  <em>
    <span>new</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nothing is perfect, but he’s made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of progress, and he gets to go out in the world in his own skin, in clothes that make him feel good, feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he can’t do that here. Bottom line.” Dustin nodded again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad he found you. You seem like you really care about him. We’ve all been worried. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>good at hiding his baggage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t hide it so much anymore. He’s genuinely </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And you’re right, I do really care about him. He’s a weird guy. You kinda can’t help to love him a little bit.” Dustin laughed and they both made their way downstairs.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Sauté</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It was probably really stupid for them to get drunk together.<br/>They obviously didn’t always have the best track record, but they did it anyway. They stole booze from Steve’s parent’s liquor cabinet, and drank far too much than the occasion called for. <br/>They were crashed out in Steve’s bed, warm and drunk, the world silly and slow. Steve’s eyes were glazed when he looked up at Billy.<br/>“I have an idea.” He slurred.<br/>“What’s your idea, Pretty Boy.” Steve wiggled himself up, sitting more so he could make better eye contact with Billy.<br/>“So, neither of us have gotten laid in like, a while. Unless you count that time we don’t talk about.” Billy felt himself nodding. “Well, what if we start fucking. I mean, we’re sexually compatible, we’ve seen each other naked, we trust each other, and frankly, I don’t wanna keep explaining to people that my gender expression is not a fetish. Plus, I like how your dick looks.” Billy laughed at that, squeezing Steve a little.</p><p>-</p><p>There's not a lot to do in Hawkins, so Billy lets his best friend hop on his dick.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Very nervous and EXCITED for this chapter. Lots of revelations</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was probably <em> really </em> stupid for them to get drunk together.</p><p>They <em> obviously </em> didn’t always have the best <em> track </em> record, but they did it anyway. They stole booze from Steve’s parent’s liquor cabinet, and drank <em> far </em> too much than the occasion called for. </p><p>They were crashed out in Steve’s bed, warm and drunk, the world silly and slow. Steve’s eyes were glazed when he looked up at Billy.</p><p>“I have an idea.” He slurred.</p><p>“What’s your idea, Pretty Boy.” Steve wiggled himself up, sitting more so he could make better eye contact with Billy.</p><p>“So, neither of us have gotten laid in like, a while. Unless you count that time we don’t talk about.” Billy felt himself nodding. “Well, what if <em> we </em> start fucking. I mean, we’re sexually compatible, we’ve seen each other naked, we <em> trust </em> each other, and frankly, I <em> don’t </em> wanna keep explaining to people that my gender expression is <em> not </em> a fetish. Plus, I like how your dick looks.” Billy laughed at that, squeezing Steve a little.</p><p>“I could be okay with that.” This was gonna be a mess, and Billy <em> knew </em> that, knew he was <em> in love </em> with Steve, and <em> sex </em> was NOT going to help him get over that. “But not right now. I don’t like having sex with drunk people. Makes me feel bad.” Steve hummed.</p><p>“Yeah, I <em> know </em> . I’m pretty sure you accused <em> yourself </em> of sexually assaulting me.” Billy chuckled softly, Steve getting up and stripping out of his clothes, getting back under the comforter in just his underwear. Billy did the same, not bothering to even sit up to wiggle out of his jeans and shirt, laying back in his socks and boxers. </p><p>They lay together, just enjoying the other’s warmth for a while before they allowed themselves to sleep. </p><p>Billy woke up to an empty bed. </p><p>He could hear Steve in the adjoining bathroom, the shower running. Billy sat up and waited, thinking about last night, the conversation between him and Steve. The water turned off as Billy was rubbing at his temples. He had <em> agreed </em> to be <em> friends with benefits </em> with Steve last night. He should back out, but he didn’t know <em> how </em> , didn’t know if he actually <em> wanted </em> to back out. He was on his phone, debating texting Max when the door opened, steam rolling out of the big bathroom. </p><p>Steve’s hair was messy, towel-dried and still damp. He looked beautiful, no makeup on, nothing but yellow silky panties, a matching garter belt holding up white stockings. Billy’s mouth went <em> dry </em>.</p><p>“I don’t know if you remember what we <em> talked about </em> last night,” he started walking towards Billy, hips swaying. “But, if you do, I’m not drunk anymore.” By the time he reached the bed, Billy was <em> rock </em> hard. Steve felt the most beautiful, the most <em> right, </em> the most <em> confident </em> in pretty lingerie, and it showed, glowed through his perfect skin. Billy swallowed laboriously.</p><p>“I remember. I remember everything.” Steve started crawling up towards him, settling his legs over Billy’s hips, straddling him with his hands on the headboard behind Billy’s head.</p><p>“And what are you gonna do about it?” Steve raised an eyebrow and Billy dived in, kissing Steve boldly, tasting his soft mouth. </p><p>He <em> loved </em> the soft noises Steve made, the little moans and gasps only spurring Billy on. Steve was hard, grinding into Billy’s stomach. He flipped them, pushing Steve back so that his head was at the foot of the bed, Billy between his pretty legs, the buttery soft stockings rubbing his sides. “I got myself ready for you. I want you, Bill. I want you so fucking <em> bad </em> .” Billy groaned, picturing Steve in the shower, opening himself up, getting ready for <em> Billy </em>. </p><p>“You think about me fuckin’ you? You stuff yourself full and imagine it’s <em> my </em> cock?” Steve was moaning, writhing beneath him. Billy pulled back, ignoring Steve’s whimper. He flicked at the little diamonds in Steve’s bellybutton ring, skimming his hands down to play with the edge of the yellow panties, Steve’s erection barely staying inside the little things. He snapped the band once, loving the way Steve’s stomach tightened. “Can I take these off, Baby? I wanna see you. Wanna see your pretty little hole.” Steve panted.</p><p>“Yes, yes <em> please </em> , Billy take them off.” He rolled them down <em> slowly </em>. The garters had been placed under, so that Steve could leave them on. He took Steve’s legs, folding them up, tilting his hips, spreading them just enough. Steve held his legs up, almost folded completely in half. He leaned back, drinking in the plains of milky skin wrapped up in lace and silk. Billy lightly ran his fingertips along his hips. He nearly blew his own load at the sight of the plug, soft blue, the base flat against his body.</p><p>“You look so pretty for me, all spread out, stretched and ready.” Steve’s cock twitched, his eyes big. Billy draped himself down, covering Steve with his own body, kissing his neck, mouthing at the skin there, sucking marks on the pretty little spots. “You’re so good for me, Baby. So perfect.” Steve whimpered more, squirming, his dick a rigid line trapped between their stomachs, <em> leaking </em>. </p><p>“<em> Please </em>, I ne-need you.” He kissed his shoulder one more time, pulling back completely. </p><p>“Hands and knees, Sweet Thing.” Steve scrambled, positioning himself by the pillows, legs spread and back swayed, showing off his little ass, the plug on display. Billy took off his own boxers, giving himself a few perfunctory strokes as he looked at Steve. He ran his hand over his cheeks. “You listen so good. Always so <em> good </em> for me.” He tapped the base of the plug, Steve sobbing out faintly. “You want this out? You want my cock instead.” More whimpers. “Use your words, Baby.”</p><p>“Bill, I want you to fuck me. I want you to take that out and <em> fuck me </em> , please I <em> need </em> it.” He pressed on the plug, pushing on either side to wiggle it around, Steve begging incoherently until he finally relented, began pulling it out as <em> slowly </em> as he could. </p><p>It was good-sized, thick and <em> long </em>. Steve opened around it so sweetly, crying out when it was gone and he was empty. </p><p>“I need some more lube, Princess. Where is it?”</p><p>“Ba-bathroom.” He gasped. Billy planted a kiss to his hole, making Steve shudder.</p><p>“Don’t move for me, Sugar.” He found the lube in the bathroom, catching sight of himself in the mirror, flushed down to his chest, cock hard and red against his stomach, he hurried back, saw Steve watching him, eyes big and watery. “You got condoms?”</p><p>“I’m, I’m clean. I like it-prefer it without if, if you’re clean.”</p><p>“Suit yourself. I’m clean and clear, Baby. Plus, sometimes they get ripped on the jewelry.” Steve gave another little sob as the bottle to the lube clicked open. Billy poured some down Steve’s crack, rubbing himself through it to get nice and slick. He pressed the head against his entrance, just <em> pressing </em>, not breaching. “What do you say? You want me?” </p><p>Steve was writhing around, trying to push his hips back, but Billy was holding him in place. He smacked the back of Steve’s thigh once, <em> loving </em> the way the skin tinged red above the silk stocking.</p><p>“Use your words. Tell me what you want. Be good for me, or I’ll have to <em> tie you down </em>.” Steve’s arms collapsed, his face planting into the pillows as he cried out at the idea. </p><p>“Fuck me!” He was practically <em> screaming </em> by now, so <em> ready </em> . Billy took his hips, and <em> pulled </em> , slowly pressing himself <em> in </em>. </p><p>It was <em> intoxicating </em> , watching himself disappear into Steve’s ass. He was tight, drawing Billy in. And he was <em> wet </em>, too much lube eased Billy’s way in, made everything so silky.</p><p>Steve could feel the bump of the piercings on Billy’s dick as each one entered him. He <em> screamed </em> when the ball on the underside of the Prince Albert brushed <em> just so </em> against his prostate.</p><p>When Billy’s hips met Steve’s ass, he waited for a moment before drawing back and pressing in again, keeping his pace agonizingly slow.</p><p>Steve had begun babbling, crying out for Billy to <em> fuck him like he meant it </em> , to <em> take </em> and to <em> claim </em>. It was hot. Hearing Steve beg and plead, a whine in his voice, as he tried to move against Billy. When he tried to slam his hips back, Billy pulled out, wrenching Steve’s knees back so that his legs straightened, his body flat on the bed. Billy plastered himself on top of him, grinding his erection between Steve’s cheeks and murmuring in his ear-</p><p>“If you don’t listen to me, I won’t give you what you want. Now, I’m gonna have to hold you down, fuck you like a <em> bad </em> little slut.” Billy could <em> feel </em> the shudder pass down Steve’s spine as he cried out, a string of <em> pleasepleaseplease. </em></p><p>Billy leaned up on one arm, positioning himself back where he was, slamming into Steve much faster, fucking him <em> hard </em>. Steve was boneless, laying as he cried into a pillow. </p><p>“Billy, Billy, I’m gonna-can I cum? <em> Please, </em> I need to cum.” Billy laid down on Steve again, keeping up his pace as he rested his weight on him. He marked up his neck, nipping at his earlobe, licking at it and saying, <em> cum for me, </em>before biting onto his shoulder. </p><p>Steve came with a shout, sobbing through the orgasm as his muscles tensed, his hole fluttering and tightening around Billy, grinding into the sheets below him, making a mess.</p><p>“<em> Fuck </em>, Pretty Boy. Feel so good, tightening up around me like that.”</p><p>“Cum inside, I want to-want to <em> feel </em> it.” That’s all it took for Billy to slam in one final time, shooting off <em> deep </em> into Steve, slumped on top of him when he finished. He breathed heavily for a minute before rolling off, pulling out slowly and <em> carefully </em> , admiring the way some of his cum <em> leaked </em> out of Steve. </p><p>“You look so <em> pretty </em> like this, so <em> sloppy </em> .” He pushed his cum <em> back </em>into Steve making him whine.</p><p>Steve turned his head to look at Billy, his eyes glassy. </p><p>“That was, quite possibly, the best sex I’ve <em> ever </em> had in my life. I could <em> feel </em> the piercings. You were <em> right </em> about them feeling good.” Billy laughed and laid back, pulling Steve so he could lay his head on Billy’s chest.</p><p>“That was <em> real </em> fuckin’ good for me too, Pretty Boy.” Steve hummed. They lay there for a while, just basking in one another. </p><p>“Tell, me somethin’, Pretty Boy.”</p><p>“Tell you what?”</p><p>“Anything. Something special about you. Something you’ve never told anyone before.”</p><p>“You first.” Steve sounded suspicious. </p><p>There was <em> so much </em> he wanted to say. Wanted to pull Steve close and breathe that he was in <em> love </em> with him, had been since the very first time he saw him. Could tell him about his dad, about the cigar burns on the back of his left shoulder, covered up by a large black and white manta ray tattoo.</p><p>He settled for something close to his heart. Something that would, would crack him open and let Steve see the mess he was, <em> is </em>, inside.</p><p>“My mom, I mentioned she died right? When I was twelve?”</p><p>“Yeah, you said that.”</p><p>“She killed herself.” Steve just stared. “She took a buncha pills. I, uh, I found her when I came home from school.”</p><p>“Bill, holy <em> shit </em> .” His eyes were huge. “I’m so <em> sorry </em> . I can’t even <em> imagine </em> how fucking <em> traumatizing </em> that would be.” He buried his face in Steve’s too much hair, smelling the sweet conditioner he used, it smelled like the ocean. “That’s so <em> heavy </em>.”</p><p>“Yeah, it <em> really </em> fucking sucked. My fuckin’ <em> dad </em> sure as shit didn’t make it any easier.” They hadn’t totally gotten into Billy’s dad, the exact kind of <em> awful </em> he was. <em> Is </em>. </p><p>“Thank you, thank you for telling me. That’s really, that’s really horrible, and I’m, uh, I’m glad to be your friend, someone you, um, <em> trust </em> with that. And I <em> know </em> I’m not very good at emotional stuff, but I’m <em> here </em> for you. If you need to talk, or vent, or be sad. I’ll listen or sit with you, or talk about nothing until you’re distracted. Whatever you need.” He took a breath. “And I uh, I have something to tell you too. But can, um, can we clean up, first? I’m kinda getting sticky.” They made quick work of changing the sheets, Steve wiping himself down before they climbed into the clean bed. Billy remaining naked, Steve opting for a clean pair of panties, white cotton with little bumblebees on them. They were cute.</p><p>“What do you want to talk about?” Steve was laying between Billy’s legs with his back against his chest. They were holding hands in his lap.</p><p>“I’ve been, I’ve been talking to Natalie a lot, and she encouraged me to tell you <em> first </em> , since I know you won’t, like, be <em> weird </em> about it, or anything, but, well, I’ve been trying to find the-the <em> nerve </em> .” He took a breath, Billy rubbing circles on his hand with his thumb. “I don’t, I um, I don’t actually think I’m a <em> guy </em> .” Billy blinked. “I just, I’ve never felt <em> right </em> as a, as a boy.”</p><p>“So, do you like-sorry, keep talking.”</p><p>“There was a while when I was like, fourteen or fifteen, where I thought of myself as a girl, called myself <em> she </em> , but it didn’t feel totally correct <em> either </em> , so she thought, she thought that maybe I could try out using they and them instead. Calling myself nonbinary. Maybe see if that feels better. I thought, maybe <em> we </em> could try that, and I can, like, <em> decide </em>.”</p><p>“I can do that. I can <em> absolutely </em> do that. Thank you for telling me.” He squeezed them tighter into his chest. “And if I slip, or say something you don’t like, if I <em> ever </em> make you feel bad, you <em> tell </em> me, and I will <em> stop </em> .” He could feel the tension melt out of their shoulders. He kissed at their neck, <em> loving </em> the happy sigh they let out, the soft giggles at the feeling of Billy’s stubble.</p><p>“This whole thing is kinda new to me. I haven’t met anyone, especially around <em> here </em> that uses they/them and I didn’t really think of it as like, an option. So when she suggested it, I kinda felt like my mind was <em> blown </em> . She said that <em> that </em> could also be why I have so many <em> issues </em> with my body, that I always felt pressure to look or be <em> perfect </em> , but that I resorted to extremes because I didn’t know what perfect <em> was </em> for me. We’ve been talking about it for a while.”</p><p>“I’m really glad you told me. I really <em> care </em> about you, and I just always want you to be the <em> most </em>happy you can possibly be. Are you going to talk to anyone else?”</p><p>“I wanna tell Robin, she won’t, she won’t <em> care </em> , and then I was going to talk to Dustin and Claudia. Deep down, I <em> know </em> they won’t mind, I mean, Claudia drove me out to the Sephora in Indianapolis when I was like, fifteen, so the people at the counter could show me how to do makeup and she even like <em> bought </em> me stuff, so I mean, she’s always been <em> cool </em> about me fucking with gender lines, but this feels <em> different </em> somehow. And I mean, she’s like, more my mom to me than my actual mother is.”</p><p>“It makes sense that you’re nervous. I think everything will be okay, but I would be <em> happy </em> to be there with you when you talk to them, <em> just </em> in case it goes sideways.”</p><p>“Thank you, Bill. For, <em> everything </em>.” They settled into Billy, sighing when he pressed a kiss to their neck.</p><p>“Of course, Pretty Bo-itch.” </p><p>Steve slowly turned around to look at him.</p><p>“Did you just almost call me <em> Pretty Boy </em> but call me Pretty <em> Bitch </em> instead?” Billy looked sheepish.</p><p>“I panicked. Got halfway through it and couldn’t think of anything gender neutral.” </p><p>“So you went with <em> bitch </em> ? That was your <em> best </em> option?” Billy just shrugged lamely. “To be fair, bitch kinda <em> transcends </em> gender.”</p><p>“I’ll figure out something better then, Pretty...One.” Steve laughed, loud and bright.</p><p>“Maybe keep trying?”</p><p>“Oh, fuck you, Pretty Baby.”</p><p>“<em> That </em> one isn’t bad. I can work with that.”</p><p>They stayed in bed together until Dustin started frantically calling Steve, inviting them and Billy over for dinner tonight.</p><p>“You gonna talk to them tonight?” They sighed.</p><p>“I don’t know if I’m ready, yet.” </p><p>“That’s okay. You can take your time with this, it’s your life, your identity, you share it on your own terms.”</p><p>“You’re so good to me, Bill. <em> So good </em> to me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Changement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Billy didn’t sleep in the guest room once until one day, a week into break, Steve’s parents came home, completely unannounced, and grouchy to find their child in their house, with a friend no less. </p><p>Things went downhill, fast. Steve’s father wouldn’t even speak to them unless it was to call them a disappointment or and embarrassment, to reprimand them for studying dance, for fucking off to New York. Their mother spent most evenings drinking wine, only speaking to Steve in lazy Italian as she gave Billy sidelong looks. Steve’s happiness seemed to melt off them, their shoulders a tense line. Billy felt like shit every time he had to say “he”, but knew he would feel much worse for outing them to their parents.</p><p>-</p><p>Christmas break, and the babes spend New Year's Eve together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is a brief mention of past sexual assault at the end. </p><p>-</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They talked to Robin the next day, Christmas Eve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t surprised, saying she always had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve’s journey hadn’t ended yet, but hugged them tight and reminded them how much she loved them. They got heather on FaceTime and told her too. She was overjoyed at being trusted, she said she even forgot that she was all alone in St. Louis while the three of them got to be together. Robin said all she was missing were some flat fields and a shitty mall that hadn’t been renovated since it was built in 1985.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spent all of Christmas day in bed, having lazy sex instead of doing anything festive. Steve had offered, said they didn’t want to ruin it for Billy, but he just kept saying he was fine and rolling on top of Steve whenever they brought it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Break was pretty fun. They spent a lot of time driving around the little town in Steve’s high school car, a BMW Billy made fun of them for </span>
  <em>
    <span>endlessly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They showed Billy all of Hawkins, the tiny downtown where they ran into Joyce Byers on Boxing Day, who Steve hugged and introduced Billy to, calling the small woman their </span>
  <em>
    <span>other mother figure</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They took Billy to the quarry, where they sat on the edge, talking and laughing until the sun went down and they tried to fuck in the backseat, until Billy </span>
  <em>
    <span>insisted</span>
  </em>
  <span> they go back to Steve’s place before his </span>
  <em>
    <span>balls froze off</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy didn’t sleep in the guest room </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span> until one day, a week into break, Steve’s parents came home, completely unannounced, and grouchy to find their child in their house, with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> no less. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things went downhill, <em>fast</em>. Steve’s father wouldn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>speak</span>
  </em>
  <span> to them unless it was to call them a </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointment</span>
  </em>
  <span> or and </span>
  <em>
    <span>embarrassment</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to reprimand them for studying dance, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking off to New York</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Their mother spent most evenings drinking wine, only speaking to Steve in lazy Italian as she gave Billy sidelong looks. Steve’s happiness seemed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>melt</span>
  </em>
  <span> off them, their shoulders a tense line. Billy felt like shit every time he had to say “he”, but knew he would feel much </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span> for outing them to their parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them still spent the nights together, Steve curled into Billy, typically crying softly. Billy hadn’t left them alone since their parents stepped through the door, didn’t even let them use the bathroom alone, would sit outside the unlocked door while they kept a running monologue, </span>
  <em>
    <span>refusing </span>
  </em>
  <span>to let them slip when things had been looking so good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had made it through three days before Steve broke down, saying they needed to get on </span>
  <em>
    <span>the next bus outta there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Billy had made arrangements, calling Dustin to bring the other kids around the next morning. They were all sad to see them leaving more than a week early, but Steve was at their </span>
  <em>
    <span>limit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Billy figured the rest of the kids could sense how close they were to </span>
  <em>
    <span>cracking</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So they loaded up their things, hugged and kissed all the kids goodbye, told Robin they’d see her in a week and went back to New York City, not bothering to tell Steve’s parents ‘goodbye’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bus ride was spent with Steve sleeping on Billy, his fingers running through their soft hair. He bought them food, and took mental notes of what they ate, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> they ate, and held them all the way back to New York City.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy had gotten permission to stay in the dorms over break, so they holed up in his room, only braving the cold to go to the bodega on the corner for snacks, spending the next few days watching Netflix in between bouts of fucking, blankets piled high on top of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neil had pitched a fucking fit about Max coming to visit Billy, so New Year’s Eve saw the two of them drinking cheap tequila straight outta the bottle, laying under the covers on Billy’s bed, clothes scattered across the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve took a pull, shuddering at the flavor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna kiss me at midnight, Bill?” They were sitting across Billy’s lap, tucked up under the covers, dopey smile on their face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, it’s like, one-thirty in the morning. It’s <em>well</em> past midnight.” They pouted. “And I already kissed you for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t remember it, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it didn’t happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you want me to kiss ya?” They nodded, pouting their lips out more, puckering them expectantly. Billy dragged them closer under the blanket, gripping around their middle. He kissed them, deeply, licking into their mouth. They sighed gently, threading one hand into Billy’s long hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bill, I wanna fuck. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you said you won’t do anything when I’m drunk, but I-I want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, baby I know you do.” Billy pulled back. “But you know my rules. Want your head on </span>
  <em>
    <span>straight</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only straight I am, is straight up-</span>
  <em>
    <span>bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy groaned, shoving Steve off his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NOW I’m not gonna fuck you because you said </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” They laughed, crawling back onto Billy’s lap, straddling his hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Why’ what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why won’t you fuck me when I’m drunk?” Billy stroked a hand through their silky hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Loving</span>
  </em>
  <span> the way their eyes fluttered closed, leaning into the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because some guy got me </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> too drunk at a party, and I told him I </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanna fuck him, so he got me even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> drunk, and he fuckin’ did it </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so I don’t fuck drunk people. Don’t want anyone to feel like I did.” Steve’s eyes were big and soft as they looked at Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Bill, I’m so, I’m so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> that happened, and I keep trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a long time ago, Sweet Thing. It just really fuckin’ sucked for a while, and I just, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span> wanna make you feel like that.” Steve put their hands on either side of Billy’s jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Bill. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s why you freaked out so much when we hooked up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> since you didn’t talk to me after, I thought I had </span>
  <em>
    <span>done that </span>
  </em>
  <span>to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> made me feel bad or uncomfortable or </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that Bill. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you, I thought, I thought you weren’t gonna want to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me after, so I thought it’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>easier</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>backed off</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy laughed softly, rubbing up Steve’s thighs, gently touching their sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re both </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> kinds a fucked, ain’t we, Stevie?” They capped the tequila, putting it to the floor next to the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you, have you ever tried therapy? Not to like, push you or anything, but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> how helpful it’s been for me, and I would, I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>support</span>
  </em>
  <span> you if you wanted to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Sugar. I know you would. I went to a support group when my mom died, but we never had real good insurance and my dad’s a chump and woulda probably lost his shit if I had talked about going to therapy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I’m not like </span>
  <em>
    <span>a doctor</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but you could go now. The school insurance covers certain places, and like, maybe it would also be </span>
  <em>
    <span>helpful</span>
  </em>
  <span> to talk about your dad, too.” They said it slowly like they were beating around the bush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotta take it one step at a time, though, Stevie. I need to get into a groove with next semester, build up my routine, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ll get goin’ digging up old trauma.” Steve smiled at him warmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanna get fucked though, so I’ll just, like, sober up.” They went to the sink filling up one of Billy’s big water bottles and sashaying back. “It’s really fuckin’ cold, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> under the covers.” They chugged half the bottle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know what you were expectin’.” Steve shoved themselves into Billy’s space, pretty much burrowing into Billy’s armpit. “Hey, Bill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy hummed in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I keep meanin’ to ask what your tattoo means, this one.” They brushed their fingers along his ribcage, the soft cursive that lived there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mom used to pack me lunch every day, used to leave little notes in my bag, reminding me that she loves me and stuff. I found them all one day, and that one was the sweetest, really made me </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, you know? So I went and got it right away, makes me feel like she’s still here sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it say?” They pulled back to look at it, tracing the looped handwriting that spelled out </span>
  <em>
    <span>My Sweet Boy, I love you! You are kind and wonderful! I’m proud of you, Billy! Love forever, Momma</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They fell asleep soon after, Billy running his hand through their hair, planting a kiss to their forehead.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Jeté</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I want you all to create a composition, something unique to you. You can work individually, or in pairs, but I don’t want groups of more than four. You have class time until the end of the semester, and of course, you can arrange for studio time as well. I want to see something that shows me who you are, sets you apart. Throughout the semester, we will have individual meetings and I will give notes on your work so far. Our first check-in will be on Friday, after you have nailed down ideas and groups. Music is subject to change if you find something later that works better. Please begin discussing groups and concepts.” Their professor, tall thin woman named Chloe, nodded once, turning to the front of the room as the space broke out in chatter. Billy grabbed Steve.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is mostly filler. And pls don't call me out, I already know this fic is a glorified Step Up movie.</p><p>-</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When classes resumed, Billy was in music theory and composition, and an added class, a class called “Creative Research in Dance” which Billy was told was essentially an open class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Steve and Heather had close schedules, and he kept coordinating with Steve to work the same shifts at the campus bookstore. Robin would get pissy whenever they did their homework together, as she studied drama, her courses were </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> separate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In mid-February, the three dancers were given details for their semester assignment in the Creative class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you all to create a composition, something unique to you. You can work individually, or in pairs, but I don’t want groups of more than four. You have class time until the end of the semester, and of course, you can arrange for studio time as well. I want to see something that shows me </span>
  <em>
    <span>who you are</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sets you </span>
  <em>
    <span>apart</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Throughout the semester, we will have individual meetings and I will give notes on your work so far. Our first check-in will be on Friday, after you have nailed down ideas and groups. Music is subject to change if you find something later that works better. Please begin discussing groups and concepts.” Their professor, tall thin woman named Chloe, nodded once, turning to the front of the room as the space broke out in chatter. Billy grabbed Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already have an idea.” They sat together near a wall, huddled close. Heather wanted to perform a solo, said she already has ideas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so we need to find good music, something with enough of a beat you can incorporate some street.” Billy nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you gotta be en pointe. She said we need to show what makes us stand out, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>gotta full send.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but, is that like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> much? I mean you </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> you don’t like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Step Up </span>
  </em>
  <span>movies, but us doing this and </span>
  <em>
    <span>blending styles</span>
  </em>
  <span> is literally the plot of the first one.” Billy threw his head back, laughing loud enough the professor, Chloe, glared at them. Steve gave her a sheepish smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s the shit that makes us </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We need to figure out how to make it </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” They began going through music options. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve scoffed at Billy’s options right off the bat, giving him pointed looks every time he suggests a metal ballad or, as Steve calls them, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuckboy songs</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve flicked through their playlists. They had about eight different dance playlists, different moods. Billy stole their phone, going through one called </span>
  <em>
    <span>hello i am sad and must wiggle</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is this </span>
  <em>
    <span>title</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s for when I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad dancing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Y’know, sad and must wiggle.” Billy just shot them a disgusted look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe we should knock out a </span>
  <em>
    <span>concept</span>
  </em>
  <span> first. What are we tryna </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span> or whatever.” Steve made a thinking face, their lips pouting out a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just make it about us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you and me. Our relationship.” Billy’s heart dropped to his ass. He had NO idea where Steve was going with this, what they meant by </span>
  <em>
    <span>relationship</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our-what do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know like how I didn’t like you because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> you were transphobic but now you’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had.” They smiled, winking at Billy. “Don’t tell Robin I said that, though.” The </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> rang around Billy’s head, clanging and making him feel like shit.</span>
</p><p><span>He </span><em><span>knew</span></em><span> he was in love with Steve, it’s not like it’s fucking </span><em><span>subtle</span></em><span>, but sometimes, when they’re laying on top of Billy, in nothing but one of his old, soft, t-shirts and a pair of panties, Billy will hold them close, close his eyes, and </span><em><span>pretend</span></em><span>. Pretend that the two of them are </span><em><span>in</span></em> <em><span>love</span></em><span>. He would run his hand up Steve’s spine, feel the way they shiver under his hands and </span><em><span>imagine</span></em><span>. </span></p><p>
  <span>And then they sit here, wink at him all </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute</span>
  </em>
  <span> and call him the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best friend they’ve ever had</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he gets </span>
  <em>
    <span>shoved</span>
  </em>
  <span> back into reality and can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretend</span>
  </em>
  <span> any longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, uh, yeah Stevie. That sounds like a good idea.” They beamed at him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Assemblé</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>On March 2nd, the worst thing that could possibly ever happen to anyone in the world happened to Billy.<br/>Steve went on a date. <br/>With a guy. <br/>Who isn’t him. </p><p>-</p><p>Steve goes on a date and Heather vibe checks Billy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>On March 2nd, the worst thing that could possibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the world happened to Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve went on a date. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a guy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Basically, it all started on Thursday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy was sitting in Steve’s room, lounging on their bed playing that dumb chicken game Steve made fun of him </span>
  <em>
    <span>endlessly</span>
  </em>
  <span> for loving. Steve was playing around with makeup, they liked to try out new looks when they had some downtime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you know that guy in our World Through Art class on Tuesday on Thursdays?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s like, twelve guys in there, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stevie.” They rolled their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex. You know, the guy that’s been like </span>
  <em>
    <span>flirting</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me, dickhead.” Oh yeah, Billy knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> guy. He spends most of class, </span>
  <em>
    <span>glaring</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know him.” Steve started wiggling in their desk chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>beaming</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “He asked me out! We’re gonna go to dinner on Saturday!” Billy’s blood began to </span>
  <em>
    <span>boil</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had no </span>
  <em>
    <span>claim</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Steve, they were their own human person, they can date whoever they want. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>apparently</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s. Nice.” He was trying not to be too mechanical. Steve was artfully applying eyeshadow, too busy focusing on blending out the bright colors to notice how Billy was speaking through a clenched jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t been on a date in seriously </span>
  <em>
    <span>so long</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Bill. I don’t even think since </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nancy</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking yelled at me in a bathroom. I just kinda, started </span>
  <em>
    <span>hooking up</span>
  </em>
  <span> a lot after that.” Yeah, Billy fucking knows. “But I’m going on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>date</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>date</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Bill. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> excited.” Billy forced a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good for you, Steve.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Although, I, um, I was thinking that we should probably stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a while, you know, assuming everything goes well.” Billy looked up to see Steve watching him, one eye finished, the other one missing the black knife of eyeliner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Makes sense.” Billy wanted to curl up and fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he spent Saturday laying in his room, ignoring texts from Heather to hang out and listening to broken-hearted music in big headphones, not wanting to be a part of humanity right then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a lull in the music, that dip in </span>
  <em>
    <span>November Rain</span>
  </em>
  <span> right around seven minutes, that let him hear the pounding on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck? I was knocking for like, five minutes.” Steve looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>gorgeous</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They were all dolled up, in a cute little green corduroy pinafore, over a tight black and white striped turtleneck, the sleeves pushed up, long legs on display in the tiny skirt, worn brown leather boots on with dark green socks poking out, matching the shade of the pinafore </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had once called that their </span>
  <em>
    <span>trademark</span>
  </em>
  <span>, matching their little crew socks with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>main statement piece</span>
  </em>
  <span> of their outfit. Billy had seen their sock drawer, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay? I seriously was like, yelling through the door. I was getting really worried, Bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just listening to music. You know we </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> haven’t found a song? For the piece about </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but, can I come in, I wanna tell you about my date with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alex</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” They were wiggling about a little, like an excited puppy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Billy opened the door, going back to his bed and putting on a shirt, not wanting to deal with </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> while his tits were out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so he like, came and picked me up at my dorm, and like, we went out to this cute place in Hell’s Kitchen, this like, taco place, and Bill, he was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweet</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and really fun to hang out with, and he held my </span>
  <em>
    <span>hand</span>
  </em>
  <span> and told me that I looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>really pretty</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” They flopped on the end of Billy’s bed while he </span>
  <em>
    <span>deeply</span>
  </em>
  <span> suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy for you.” Steve gave him a calculated look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay? You’re kinda bein’ weird. This whole week you’ve been like, avoiding me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not avoiding you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you’ve said a sentence longer than three words since I’ve been here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I haven’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three words, Bill.” This time he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> roll his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. It’s just, Neil’s been drinking a lot, and I’m worried about Max.” It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>technically</span>
  </em>
  <span> a lie, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> worried about Max stuck in a house with his shitty father. But he </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> the way Steve’s eyes went soft, the way they reached for his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he hasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>done anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> yet, I’ve just been, you know. Dwelling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you wanna just like, watch a movie? Take your mind off it?” They swiped their thumb along Billy’s hand, and Billy squeezed back and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretended</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna go to the studio? Work on our stuff? It’s only like, nine-thirty.” The dance studio was technically open twenty-four hours, the students signing in with campus cards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Can we stop by my place? So I can, like, change?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped off in Steve’s room, and they quickly ditched the little pinafore getup for their usual tight shorts, hopping into some sweats and a shirt Billy has </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> been missing while Billy reserved the room for a few hours. Steve took plenty of time to warm up in the pointe shoes. They hadn’t been using them as much, trying to conserve the two pairs Billy had given them for their birthday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I found a song.” Steve was tapping through their phone, treading their feet to warm up the shoes. They connected to the speaker, </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FeW46vNoIPA">
    <span>playing</span>
  </a>
  <span> it throughout the studio. It began softly, building to a decent beat as Billy swayed to it, feeling it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, this could, this could work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They began working slowly, integrating chunks of choreography they had already come up with into the song, altering counts and beats. Billy has ripped off his shirt, was just in track pants, Steve ditching their sweats and shirt as well, left in those </span>
  <em>
    <span>shorts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pointe shoes, and a full face. Billy was losing his mind, getting to touch all that </span>
  <em>
    <span>skin</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wanted to slam Steve to the ground, taste the sweat on their body, lick over them, bury himself inside, </span>
  <em>
    <span>take them</span>
  </em>
  <span> right here in this studio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he lifted, and partnered, and came up with choreo, and by the time they were too tired to continue, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>well past</span>
  </em>
  <span> one in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel really good about what we finished today. Did it help you take your mind off Max?” Steve and Billy were walking back, to their separate dorms, Steve announcing they have Sunday Brunch plans with fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alex</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” They furrowed their brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how you said you were worried about her, with your dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit. Yeah. Obviously, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> help me take my mind off it.” Steve grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d tell me if you were mad at me, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you promise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise.” Steve didn’t look convinced, but they had reached their dorm, and it was late, and Billy was smiling at them, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> enough they knew everything was </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well then, goodnight, Bill. Call me if you wanna, like, do something tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy didn’t call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he invited Heather over, and they got drunk, and he cried about Steve and spent half the night throwing up cheap vodka while Heather held back his hair with a wrinkled nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy, I know it’s shitty, but you either have to, like, talk to them, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>move the fuck on</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knoooww</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Heather. It’s just that, I’ve never, never </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone like I love them, don’t know if I ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>anyone fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>period</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Think they fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>taught me</span>
  </em>
  <span> how to love.” Billy was lying miserably on the floor where Heather had deposited him with a trash can, taking up his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you quit being like, melodramatic. They’re in love with you </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re just stupid and can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>see it</span>
  </em>
  <span> for some reason, and then this other cute guy walked into their life, but makes a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>move</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and now here they are, and here you are. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Separate</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Sober Billy knew she had a point. Drunk Billy just wished Steve was lying on top of him. “You gotta pull your head outta your ass. You can’t stop being their friend over this, I honestly think it would fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>destroy</span>
  </em>
  <span> them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I wasn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>considering </span>
  </em>
  <span>that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. ‘Cause if you did, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> they wouldn’t deal well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has been nearly a month since they had shoved fingers into their throat, nearly a month since their father called to say they were selling the house in Hawkins, that the only reason they even </span>
  <em>
    <span>kept</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was for Steve to live in, and if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to be ungrateful about the wonderful life they’d given </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then they saw no reason to keep the house around for it to sit empty. Steve had shown up at Billy’s door, shaking and crying and had refused to eat for two days after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Heather I fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Who do you think has dealt with them </span>
  <em>
    <span>every time</span>
  </em>
  <span> they slip? Who do you think holds them through it all, while they shake and scream and cry and </span>
  <em>
    <span>beg</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to let them starve? And let me tell you, Heath, I would do it every day for the rest of my </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I had to, I want to be there for them, </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>them </span>
  <em>
    <span>forever</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>first-hand</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowledge</span>
  </em>
  <span> of how </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> it </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> gets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t trying to say you </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well don’t fuckin’ come in here tellin’ me shit I </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span> know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to be such an asshole to me about it, I’m just trying to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? Well, you’re fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She got out of his bed, stomping on her shoes, looming over him from where he was still on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, you can be a real </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole</span>
  </em>
  <span> sometimes. I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve sees in you sometimes. You are so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>selfish</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Selfish? Did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> all the shit I do for Steve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes I did, but all it does is prove my point! You follow them around like a lost little puppy, never doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> even </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> to making a move, even though they </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly</span>
  </em>
  <span> want you to, and then once they move on, you get pissy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>jealous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like they’re your </span>
  <em>
    <span>property</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or some garbage, and we spent the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole</span>
  </em>
  <span> night talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> like we </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> do. Did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> Robin and I started dating two weeks ago? Did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I came out to my parents over winter break? I bet you fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She stormed out of the room, leaving Billy to feel like </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing was, he didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of that shit. Heather was his first friend here, and he dumped her like a sack a’ shit for Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slept on the floor and dragged his hungover little self over to her place as soon as he woke up, only for her roommate to point him in the direction of Robin’s room, where he found a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> sad Heather and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> angry Robin.</span>
</p><p><span>“I’m sorry.” Robin had propped the door open just enough that he could see Heather, but she had made it </span><em><span>abundantly</span></em> <em><span>clear</span></em><span> he was NOT to step foot in her room. “You’re right. I’m a selfish piece of shit. I should’ve been a better friend to you, and I’m </span><em><span>sorry</span></em><span> I’m an asshole. You’re right about everything. You’re right about Steve, and, I gotta, I gotta </span><em><span>move on</span></em><span>. They’re happy. I wanna be happy. I want </span><em><span>you</span></em><span> to be happy, Heath. I’ll leave you two alone for a bit, I just wanted to say sorry.”</span></p><p>
  <span>He went on a run, picking a direction and running until he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He felt like his life was unraveling at the seams. He felt like he wanted to hit something, to scream, to cry, to take a nap for at </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> a week. He wanted to rage and be sad, and he just wanted his fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>mom.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So he went to church. And he prayed. And he tried to stop the tears falling down his face as he kneeled in one of the back pews. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy spent about a week being as miserable as can be. Making amends with Heather and Robin, and seeing </span>
  <em>
    <span>so little</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Steve anymore it was causing him physical </span>
  <em>
    <span>depression</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going home for spring break.” Heather stared at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going home. For break. Gonna go to Sacramento. See Max. See my old studio. Probably head down to San Diego and just, </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a second.” She didn’t blink for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about your dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gonna stay with a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about your </span>
  <em>
    <span>flight</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bought it with what I made at the bookstore when Steve and I came back from winter break early and I took those extra shifts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, okay. Is that, is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> the best idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just, I need the ocean, and the sun, and Max, and my car, and my mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When do you leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Monday.” It was Thursday. He and Heather were at breakfast after ballet class. Steve had had to rush off to meet fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alex</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They had tried to stop integrating him into the little friend group after he and Billy had gotten into a big weird fight when they all went out together one night. Alex had accused Steve of cheating on him with Billy. Steve had freaked out and made themself vomit. Almost a month and a half, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve had been doing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Billy didn’t ask how Alex had handled a panicked, puking Steve. Didn’t want to hear if he had left Steve alone, or if he had comforted them better than Billy ever did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Billy. You just, promise you’ll stay safe? Don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> at your dad if you can avoid it.” He laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t think Neil’ll even </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me</span>
  </em>
  <span> within a hundred yards of his house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re coming back though, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m coming back. What you think I’m gonna move back in with my </span>
  <em>
    <span>dad</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously</span>
  </em>
  <span> not, but like, I know this year hasn’t been </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span> for you, and I just, I just want to see you back here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather, I worked </span>
  <em>
    <span>way too hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> for this to give it up. This year has been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a lot better than the last few, </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Call me The Terminator. ‘Cause I’ll be back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed loudly at him and hugged him as he left the dorm early Monday morning, bag over his shoulder. He hadn’t seen Steve all weekend. Sent them a text that he’d be gone for spring break and got on a plane, paying no mind to anything but thoughts of the California sun.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chaîné</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lowkey pretty proud of this chapter.</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing Billy did when he got off the plane was go to the garage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to get his baby, make sure she was still purring just like she used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy! Hey, man! Got your girl just out back here.” Mikey clapped him on the back. He had taken Billy in when he was in high school, when he showed up with a split lip and a shitty resumé at the tender age of fourteen, saying some shit about how he </span>
  <em>
    <span>just kinda liked cars, man</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had built the 1979 Chevrolet Camaro Z28 from the fucking ground up, working on it after hours, using parts he fixed up from old beaters they had scrapped. The thing was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gorgeous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, ran like a dream and Billy had finished it with a coat of custom paint, a pretty dark blue. It was his pride and fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>joy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be in it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Took her out at least once a week, just to keep the engine warm for ya,” Mikey was explaining, pulling the tarp off the car. “Did some maintenance just yesterday too, changed her oil, rotated the tires, checked out your brake pads, all that. She’s all ready to go.” Billy’s heart practically stopped when he saw the car, just as beautiful as he had left it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey, man, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thanks</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You didn’t have to do all that.” Mikey just waved a hand at him, making a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, kid. I’m just proud of you, is all. Wanted to welcome you home nice and proper.” Billy grinned, taking the keys from Mikey, the scorpion keychain Max had bought him at Venice Beach when they took a road trip to L.A. jingled as he unlocked the door, easing himself into the leather seats, which Billy had reupholstered himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car roared to life, and Billy could have </span>
  <em>
    <span>cried</span>
  </em>
  <span>, missing that sound, the sound of </span>
  <em>
    <span>freedom</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took her right out on the highway, driving aimlessly while he whooped and laughed, all the windows down, Twisted Sister screaming from the tape deck. He drove up the hills, aimlessly going to all his old haunts, kicking himself every time he wished Steve was in the passenger seat, laughing at Billy and posting their adventures on their Instagram story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he reached the shitty old apartment, it was nearing dusk. A few of his dance buddies had moved into a place together, told Billy he could crash for a week while he was on break. They greeted him with laughs and cheers, pressing a loaded bong into his hand almost immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he needed, the California sun making him forget about the drama he had left behind, the unread texts from Steve on his phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mom didn’t want to be buried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She said her body belonged to the ocean, that she wanted her ashes spread in San Diego. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy had done it by himself, freshly sixteen with a fixed-up car. He had stolen the urn </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> off the mantel, where his dad </span>
  <em>
    <span>insisted</span>
  </em>
  <span> on keeping it, despite her wishes. He went down the Pacific Coastal Highway, the urn buckled into the passenger seat. He listened to music that made him think of her and had to pull over a few times, cry into his steering wheel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers letting the ashes go, let his mother be taken by the ocean breeze as the sun rose behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat in the sand, and he cried until he couldn’t anymore, drove back home completely </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drove to that same beach, drove through the night like he’d done the last time, stepping out of his car at sunrise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air was still cool, and the sand was chilly when he sat in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Momma.” A few seagulls landed near him, poking through the sand. He watched them for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss you lots. Always do. But I wish you were here right now.” He closed his eyes, listened to the waves crashing. “I think I’m in love. And they don’t love me back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pictured what his mom would say, the way she’d push his hair behind his ear and coo </span>
  <em>
    <span>Starfish, you’re gonna find someone. You are built outta my love, you are built to love. One day someone’s gonna see that, and they’re never gonna let you go</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sniffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had said that to him when he was in seventh grade, after he told her he thought about boys more than girls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Momma, I’ve never met anyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>like them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like, seriously, they’re this ethereal fucking being. They’re so kind, and wonderful, and gracious, and talented, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweet</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>beautiful, Momma. I’ve never </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone like them. But they’re real fragile, and I don’t wanna fuck it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the sand, began drawing in it with his finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re with another guy right now. Went with their boyfriend to his place for spring break. They can’t really go home anymore. They’re parents are shitty and like, sold the house they grew up in? It was super fucking weird. Apparently they put all of Steve’s shit in storage. Which, I mean, when I left Neil just threw my shit in the gutter. Not that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>left</span>
  </em>
  <span> much.” He shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, yeah. And it </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucks</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because, because I have no </span>
  <em>
    <span>claim</span>
  </em>
  <span> to them, or anything like that. They’re their own person, and if they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span> with this guy, then who the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> am </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say they shouldn’t be together, you know? And I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be happy for them, they were so </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited</span>
  </em>
  <span> for that first date, Momma, you shoulda </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I wish that we could be happy </span>
  <em>
    <span>together</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or, or that I could get over my </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and just, be happy for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tossed a handful of sand at the seagulls, made them squawk at him and fly away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>miss you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He was blinking back his tears, just wanted to collapse into her warm hug, feel her tug her fingers through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead, he stood up dusting sand off his ass, looking out at the horizon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you forever, Momma.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So are you gonna talk to Steve when you get back?” Max was dumping ketchup on her eggs, Billy just watched, disgusted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what?” She gave him a pointed look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About how you’re</span>
  <em>
    <span> in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> with them, you dumbshit.” Billy dropped eye contact, pushing his food around his plate. He had picked up Max for breakfast on Friday, one last time before his flight that afternoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if it’s totally </span>
  <em>
    <span>worth it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Max. I mean, they’ve got a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and if they’re happy, you know, what’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The point</span>
  </em>
  <span>, asshole, is that you’d get this off your chest, and if Heather and Robin are right, that they </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel the same, maybe it’ll work out for the best. Maybe they’ll dump </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuckin’ Alex</span>
  </em>
  <span> and you two can like, dance off into the sunset.” He chuckled at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You swear too much. It’s not very ladylike, Maxine.” She flicked a sliver of onion at him, he caught it in his mouth, grinning as he chewed it with his mouth open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a beast. An absolute animal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hugged tightly as when he dropped her back off, parking a block away from the house, not wanting Neil to see him back in town, let alone with Max.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be stupid. Talk to Steve.” She said into his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we’ll see. Don’t let </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> give you any shit. You call me if you need.” He kissed the top of her head, taking his baby back to the garage, and boarding his eastbound flight, trying not to think about Steve or Neil or anything else that makes him sad.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Pirouette</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alex’s mother smiled brightly at them as she came to help with the bags. <br/>“Stevie! So wonderful to meet you! Alex has told us so much about you.” Steve’s eyes were wide as she pulled them into a tight hug. Nicknames then, huh.<br/>“Uh, you as well, Mrs. Lawrence.”<br/>“Oh, please, Dear. Call me Elizabeth.” She led them inside, one hand on Steve’s wrist. <br/>She showed them up to the room they would be sharing, giving Steve a little wink, making them flush. <br/>And then Alex led them downstairs, to the patio to meet his father.<br/>“Dad, this is Stevie. My girlfriend.” </p><p>-</p><p>Steve goes home with Alex for spring break. Things don't go well.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Steve gets misgendered a lot in this chapter, be careful with yourselves.</p><p>-</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Billy hasn’t answered any of my texts.” Steve was </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to sound nonchalant about it. Probably failed </span>
  <em>
    <span>spectacularly</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said he just needed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> means.” Heather was scanning over Robin’s essay for her History of Costuming class. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Heather shrugged. “He’s just seemed </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He told me he just needs the sun and Max and his mom.” She took a breath, setting Robin’s essay aside. “I think that college has been harder on him than he was expecting. I think he just thought of going away as a way </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span> and now that he’s here, he actually has to learn to be his own person. And maybe it’s a self-sabotage thing, like he doesn’t have to worry about his </span>
  <em>
    <span>dad</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking up his life, and he’s not used to </span>
  <em>
    <span>freedom</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I think he just doesn’t know what to do with himself most days.” Steve bit the inside of their cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he gonna be okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said he’s staying with friends and I made him </span>
  <em>
    <span>promise</span>
  </em>
  <span> to avoid his dad. And I don’t know, maybe this week could be like, really </span>
  <em>
    <span>healing</span>
  </em>
  <span> for him..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess that makes sense.” But none of it </span>
  <em>
    <span>sat right</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Steve. Why was Billy </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> hellbent on ignoring their texts, why did he need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the first place?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sent him one last text before calling it a loss. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hope you’re okay!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alex had one hand on their thigh as he drove them both up to Bar Harbor, Maine. A little resrt town on the east coast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was jittery, was gonna be meeting Alex’s fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>parents</span>
  </em>
  <span> at their summer home, because Alex was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>loaded</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was in charge of music for the eight-hour drive, had made a few good playlists for a few different moods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had one hand out the window, watching the trees and pretty forests roll by, reminding them </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a home that wasn’t home anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Alex could be soft sometimes, when no one was watching. Steve liked him best when he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just tired.” He gave them a nice smile. Steve returned it weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled into the driveway of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span> home, large enough to fit </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span> people for the week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s hands were shaking as they took a few calming breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex’s mother smiled brightly at them as she came to help with the bags. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie! So </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful</span>
  </em>
  <span> to meet you! Alex has told us </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span> about you.” Steve’s eyes were wide as she pulled them into a tight hug. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nicknames then, huh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, you as well, Mrs. Lawrence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dear. Call me Elizabeth.” She led them inside, one hand on Steve’s wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She showed them up to the room they would be sharing, giving Steve a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>wink</span>
  </em>
  <span>, making them flush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Alex led them downstairs, to the patio to meet his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, this is Stevie. My girlfriend.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like someone dropped a bucket of freezing cold water down Steve’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They froze, didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the fuck they were supposed to do. They shook Mr. Lawrence’s hand, accepted the </span>
  <em>
    <span>call me Anthony!</span>
  </em>
  <span> and slipped back inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner was awkward, Steve could </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely</span>
  </em>
  <span> eat, not with </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriendgirlfriendgirlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span> rattling around in their head the whole time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you call me your girlfriend?” Steve rounded on him the </span>
  <em>
    <span>minute</span>
  </em>
  <span> they were alone in the bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>rolled his eyes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, they’re old school. They’re cool about the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>trans thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but they just don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> the <em>they</em> stuff. And since you like to look like a girl, I just figured that would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>easier</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> easier. Are you fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidding me</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Alex this fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucks</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I have to sit here, and get misgendered for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>week</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>understand</span>
  </em>
  <span> how much that fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve, just like, suck it up. It’s only a few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And well, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve’s been getting misgendered their </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span>, still gets it from their parents and shitty people from Hawkins High. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They can </span>
  <em>
    <span>deal</span>
  </em>
  <span> with a few days. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>could not</span>
  </em>
  <span> deal with a few days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By day </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> of dealing with Alex’s mom wanting to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>girls day outs</span>
  </em>
  <span> and getting asked incentive fucking questions like </span>
  <em>
    <span>and how did your parents handle your coming out</span>
  </em>
  <span> over country club deserts, Steve had fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>had it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when they were forced to be paraded around to all of the Lawrences’ wealthy family friends, a little token of </span>
  <em>
    <span>look how progressive we are! We don’t care that our son brought home a trans girl!</span>
  </em>
  <span> they stopped playing along,  just kinda, let the chips fall where they may. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you told your parents about, you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Steve </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> has no idea who this person is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, seeing as they pretty much stopped speaking to me after I told them I liked guys and ran away to New York to study dance instead of something </span>
  <em>
    <span>respectable</span>
  </em>
  <span>, no. I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> shared my gender identity and expression.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Some woman had floated her way over. “Your parents don’t accept you! That must be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> painful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. It’s shitty when your boyfriend doesn’t accept you, either.” The two exchanged odd looks. “Please excuse me.” Steve pushed past them, grabbing three champagne flutes on their way to the patio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They downed them quickly, and thought about Billy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wondered what he was up to, if he had kept his promise to be safe in California, if he had seen Max yet. He thought about Billy on a beach, his hair so curly from the ocean water, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tan</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>golden</span>
  </em>
  <span>, covered in sand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He always pictured Billy laughing on the beach, always pictured him carefree and smiling, tattoos on display, piercings glinting in the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sent him another text. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you. Hope you’re having fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you okay?” They slid their phone quickly into their skirt pocket, giving Alex the best smile they could muster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just needed some air. Kinda stuffy in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, they can all be kind of a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would probably help if they weren’t all treating me like some exotic exhibit.” Alex huffed a breath. “Look, I thought you understood this, but my gender, </span>
  <em>
    <span>dressing</span>
  </em>
  <span> like I do, it’s for </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s not some radical statement, or a rebellion against my parents. It’s not about being </span>
  <em>
    <span>sexy</span>
  </em>
  <span> or being </span>
  <em>
    <span>feminine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s about me feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>comfortable</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I mean, it’s about those other things at least a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little bit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, too. Like all your </span>
  <em>
    <span>lingerie</span>
  </em>
  <span> and stuff. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> feeling like a girl.”</span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>No</span></em><span>. I like feeling like I belong in my body. Dresses and makeup and skirts, they just make me </span><em><span>happy</span></em><span>. They’re only </span><em><span>girl</span></em><span> things because somebody said they were. And you know what? Maybe I </span><em><span>am</span></em><span> making some radical fucking statement, saying that no one but </span><em><span>me</span></em><span> can label me, no one but </span><em><span>me</span></em><span> can know what I feel, put words to those thoughts. </span><em><span>Least</span></em> <em><span>of all</span></em><span> you and your shitty fake parents.” Steve took Alex’s glass out of his hand, drinking the whiskey in one go. “I’m going to bed. I’d prefer it if you slept in another room tonight.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Two fingers slid <em>easy</em> down their throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They thought about calling Billy, about how <em>soothing</em> his voice would feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then they thought about three missed calls, about fourteen texts left on <em>Read</em>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two fingers were an easier solution.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My lovely wife here would like to try the rabbit stew.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was sitting back in their seat, arms folded across their lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And my son would enjoy the salmon. And I think the pork chops for his girlfriend.” Steve rolled their eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex’s dad did this </span>
  <em>
    <span>every time</span>
  </em>
  <span> they went out for dinner. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Insisted</span>
  </em>
  <span> on ordering for everyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waiter smiled and left the four of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Anthony, but I don’t actually eat pork. I’m kosher.” Alex looked at them, his brow furrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because of fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wouldn’t remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Stevie, I didn’t know you were Jewish.” Steve unfolded their arms, began toying gently with the flatware on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, my mother’s faith is very important to her. My father converted when they got married.” They had even sent Steve to a Jewish preschool in the city, were </span>
  <em>
    <span>card-carrying members</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the Hawkins Jewish Community Center. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what does Judaism have to say about your transness?” Steve’s grip tightened on their fork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span>, only Hasidic Judaism expresses negativity towards transness. This is based on how rigid gender roles in that society are, </span>
  <em>
    <span>however</span>
  </em>
  <span>, there have been many trans positive interpretations of the Torah. We’ve had many trans rabbis, and as of the late seventies, trans people could be married according to Jewish Tradition. Even in Orthodox traditions, there has been a movement to accept transgender people because the suicide rate of trans people who are shunned by their community and family is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>high</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And at the end of the day, Judaism as a whole supports the idea of love and happiness more than upholding some inane ideas against people living their truth.” Elizabeth’s eyes were </span>
  <em>
    <span>wide</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, it’s quite progressive, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would say so. But I also believe that </span>
  <em>
    <span>no one</span>
  </em>
  <span> can judge me for my gender identity and expression, and that no one but </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> has the right to decide if HaShem, who’s supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>all-loving</span>
  </em>
  <span> by the way, inherently </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates me</span>
  </em>
  <span> for something I can’t control.” Steve’s phone went off in their lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a text from Alex. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can you stop being so in their face about it? You’re making them uncomfortable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve scoffed, standing up, knocking into the table as they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I’m making them </span>
  <em>
    <span>uncomfortable</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This entire </span>
  <em>
    <span>week</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>uncomfortable</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’ve been treated like some fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>show pony</span>
  </em>
  <span> for you to parade around in front of your friends, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just so </span>
  </em>
  <span>you can show off how </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovely</span>
  </em>
  <span> and how </span>
  <em>
    <span>accepting</span>
  </em>
  <span> you are. And you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a girl. I’m a transfeminine nonbinary </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span>. My pronouns are </span>
  <em>
    <span>they/them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and your son’s a fuckin’ asshole with a tickling kink.” They took their jacket from the chair, pulling it on with a flourish Billy would roll his eyes at, call </span>
  <em>
    <span>overdramatic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Enjoy your evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve didn’t look back as they stomped out of the restaurant, their grip tight around the handle of the steak knife they’d swiped from the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked down the road, absolutely fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>steaming</span>
  </em>
  <span>, calling an Uber from the first gas station they found. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They packed their things quickly, didn’t bother leaving a note before heading to the tiny airport. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A last-minute ticket to Portland, Maine, was </span>
  <em>
    <span>expensive</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Steve was </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> pissed off enough to throw down their dad’s credit card. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had </span>
  <em>
    <span>plenty</span>
  </em>
  <span> of time to think on the bus back home, and sent Billy one more text. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You were right</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Fouette</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the long wait! A Lot's been happening. BUT, I've got this fic, actually FINISHED. And end is in sight!<br/>Hope y'all enjoy this :3 Shit's gonna hit the fan soon. </p><p>-</p><p>For ao3 Uses<br/>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When he arrived back in New York, shit had </span>
  <em>
    <span>apparently</span>
  </em>
  <span> hit the fan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had met Alex’s parents. They went up to Maine for a few days of break, to whom he had introduced Steve as his </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve was </span>
  <em>
    <span>livid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They had fought all during break, and Steve had apparently dumped him, publically and </span>
  <em>
    <span>loudly</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy wanted to beat the </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuckin’ Alex</span>
  </em>
  <span> when Steve had said all this through hits off of Robin’s pen. </span>
</p><p><span>“And, I should’ve fuckin’ </span><em><span>known</span></em><span>, I mean when we fucked he was always telling me shit like, that I’m such a pretty </span><em><span>girl</span></em><span>, and like, was always talking about my </span><em><span>pussy,</span></em><span> like, it was fucking </span><em><span>gross</span></em><span>. And I kept </span><em><span>telling</span></em><span> him that like, I’m </span><em><span>not</span></em><span> a girl and it’s frankly super </span><em><span>ignorant</span></em><span> of him and he would be like, ‘but I thought that’s what you were into with your </span><em><span>lingerie</span></em><span> and </span><em><span>outfits </span></em><span>and stuff’ and I don’t know </span><em><span>how many</span></em><span> fucking times I had to explain that I</span> <span>wear this shit because it makes me feel </span><em><span>right</span></em><span>, not because it’s like, a kink.” They were pacing Robin’s room, gesturing wildly as they explained, </span><em><span>pissed off</span></em><span>. It was </span><em><span>beautiful</span></em><span>. Their eyes sharp, tossing their head like an incensed pony. “I mean, that’s why I started fucking </span><em><span>Billy</span></em><span>, because he didn’t </span><em><span>do </span></em><span>that shit.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Billy raised his mug of vodka and Sprite, taking a sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sex wasn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>that good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like, it’s hard to be into it when you’re being fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>misgendered</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” They took another hit. Robin and Heather were wrapped up in one another on Robin’s bed, Billy lounging on the empty one, drinking steadily. He had gotten in late last night, sleeping for nearly a day before meeting back up with the friends he had been lowkey ignoring over break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I fight him? I’m gonna fight him.” Steve plopped on the bed, slumping back dramatically over Billy’s legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t fight him. I, uh, I may or may not have slashed the tires on his parent’s car.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ste-ven!” Robin over-enunciated their name, her eyes wide. “You did fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I slashed their fucking tires.” They said it with a shrug, as though it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>that big of a deal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” Heather went shrill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I stole a steak knife from the table at dinner.” Billy just laughed, loud and boisterous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuckin’ good for you!” He high-fived them as they giggled. “That’s what they get for being fuckin’ awful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but that’s not even all! His dad did this weird shit where he like, ordered for everyone at the table? It was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he got me a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pork chop</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I was like, dude I’m fully a Jew, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” They stood up, continuing to pace Robin’s room. “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m not the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> little kosher bitch, but no pig and no rodents and that’s pretty much it for me, like it's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Robin was giggling uncontrollably into Heather’s shoulder. “So </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> his mom is like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, Stevie</span>
  </em>
  <span> which again, introduced me as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stevie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so she goes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t know you were Jewish. What does Judaism have to say about your transness?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Which like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hello?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What the fuck question is that? So I started going off about LGBTQ+ interpretations of the Torah, and was like, also nobody is allowed to judge me for my transness, so like, there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Fuckin’ Alex texts me under the table that I’m making his parents </span>
  <em>
    <span>uncomfortable</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and to stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>being so in their face about ‘it’</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so that’s when I fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>left</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Their chest was heaving in their rage, rage Billy couldn’t help but fuckin </span>
  <em>
    <span>share</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sweet Thing. That’s a real shitty night. I’m sorry he turned out to be a dirtbag.” They just shrugged at Billy, moving to perch by his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like I didn’t see it </span>
  <em>
    <span>coming</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I mean with all the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sex stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span> too, I should’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>known</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Dingus. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>on you. He shouldn’t have done </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of that, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> if you asked him </span>
  <em>
    <span>not to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s fucked up.” Robin took a drink, nodding sagely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know. It just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucks</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was actually kinda okay at dealing with my breakdowns and stuff. Not as good as any of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he was okay.” They flopped onto Billy again, he patted their stomach, slinging an arm around their middle and pulling them back, their back nestled into his own stomach as they leaned their weight onto him. “It was kinda </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>, actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>dating</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone. I guess I just have shitty </span>
  <em>
    <span>luck</span>
  </em>
  <span> or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you just love too easy.” Heather smiled warmly from her place nestled into Robin’s side. Billy could feel them sigh against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. I’m just always fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>falling in love</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was quiet, contemplative after they said that. Billy didn’t really know what he was supposed to do, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve had admitted to falling in love </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Billy before, but it always kinda made Billy feel like </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, feel like he was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only one</span>
  </em>
  <span> unloved by Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They settled into Billy more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just keep picking the </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> people. People that are shitty, or don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>love me back</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I just need someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy was gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>lose</span>
  </em>
  <span> his </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve had been slowly relaxing into Billy as they spoke, someone who </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> love them, a whole</span>
  <em>
    <span> lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It made him feel like pure, absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin was chewing on her lip, </span>
  <em>
    <span>staring</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you just need to, to look a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>closer</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy shook his head at her. “I mean, look at me and Heather. We thought we were just friends, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>pining</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and we talked it out, and we’re together now. Maybe, maybe the person you </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn't love you back, maybe they </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy was mouthing at her to </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut the fuck up, Buckley!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked contemplative.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, Rob. I think, I think this person would’ve, would’ve made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>move</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe they’re scared.” Billy rolled his eyes as Heather chimed in. “Maybe they think you don’t feel the same.” Steve scoffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They would fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’ve been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>obvious</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it.” They sighed deeply. “Maybe I’m destined to be by myself. I should probably learn to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> myself, first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin rolled her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Or</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you could just, </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the person, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>explain</span>
  </em>
  <span> how you feel and you might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>surprised</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She spoke slowly, her eyes flicking pointedly between Billy and Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever, Robin. We’ve already talked about this. I can’t take being rejected.” Steve’s voice was dark. “Let’s just drop it, okay? Pour one out for Fuckin’ Alex and his fuckin’ parents, and move on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin and Heather exchanged looks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t wanna talk about it. Tell me what you two did.” They pointed at Robin and Heather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, we went to Heather’s grandparents’ place in Montana with, like, her whole family. It was a good time. They have a cabin on a big lake and they had a boat and everything.” Robin smiled softly at Heather, before she began giggling, her eyes lighting up. “Which </span>
  <em>
    <span>reminds me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, we never talked about your cousin’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heather burst out laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Okay, so this guy is like, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>exact</span>
  </em>
  <span> same vibe as Fuckin’ Alex. The first night, he got </span>
  <em>
    <span>super</span>
  </em>
  <span> drunk and was like, being weird and super bro-y with my dad, and the next day, he like, snapped at my cousin, so the rest of the trip everyone was just like, making fun of him and shit, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> funny.” They laughed together, having a </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> unintelligible conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughed along with them. Sometimes they did that, like other peoples’ happiness just gave them so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>joy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy melted a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was California? You see your dad?” The two girls had settled down again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, steered clear of the house. Saw Max a few times, but I’d pick her up from the end of the street.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is she doing?” Steve turned around to look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s alright, he hasn’t fucked with her.” Billy shrugged. “It was nice, though. Went to my old studio, and went to talk to my mom about some stuff.” Steve furrowed their brows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, you talked with your mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She was cremated, and I spread her ashes at a beach she took me to a lot when I was a kid. I just like going there and kind of, spilling all my thoughts. Makes me feel close to her, or whatever.” Billy was looking down, picking at a spot on his jeans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’d you tell her about?” Heather was looking at him intently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys. My first year at college, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He didn’t want to say that he’d sat on a beach and cried to his dead mother about Steve, the person </span>
  <em>
    <span>currently</span>
  </em>
  <span> sitting in his lap. “It was just nice to see the sun again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I forgot how fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>tan</span>
  </em>
  <span> you were when you first got here.” Billy held up his arm against Steve’s pale one. Steve snatched their arm back. “You’re an </span>
  <em>
    <span>ass</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He grinned lazily at them. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Grand Jeté</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“No, about Robin and Heather.” Billy just shrugged. <br/>“What’s it gotta do with us?” Steve’s jaw went tight. <br/>“We’re their friends.”<br/>“Yeah, but if they’re in a fight or some shit, that’s between them to sort out. I mean, I think you’ve already meddled enough-”<br/>“Meddled?” Steve’s eyes fucking crackled as they glared at Billy. “Meddled?” Billy huffed. </p><p>-</p><p>Billy and Steve get in a fight.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! Long time no update! Thanks for stickin' it out with me! The end of this fic is in sight, just a few more chapters to go, and I've got them written, so hopefully consistent updates from here on out :)<br/>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Billy was dead on his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had rushed </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the studio from a shift at the bookstore to meet Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>so close</span>
  </em>
  <span> on their duet, and they wanted to finish </span>
  <em>
    <span>soon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, have </span>
  <em>
    <span>lots</span>
  </em>
  <span> of time to rehearse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their piece had a lot of lifts, big dramatic ones. Steve had asked Billy if he thinks he could full press them, and Billy had lifted them all the way up, held them with straight arms above his head, like it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, to be fair, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy had always been </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his muscles weren’t just for </span>
  <em>
    <span>show</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and even though Steve had been doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they still didn’t even weigh 100 pound soaking wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was already in the studio, stretching in a middle split with their body pressed to the floor while they listened to music on their headphones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy had jogged to the studio, his muscles already warmed up, so he flopped next to Steve, stretching out his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve didn’t look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tapped them on the back. They rolled to face him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re late.” Billy furrowed his brows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I was working tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still late.” They had the studio scheduled for two hours, they were gonna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve huffed as they stood up, working through their feet in their pointe shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were wearing the old ones again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you threw those out.” Steve rolled their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’d be a waste of money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really, since I got you those new-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we just start?” Steve didn’t look at him, just snapped at Billy with their back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy was taken aback. Steve was cagey, their energy all over the place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hadn’t snapped at Billy the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>school year</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not since the party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanna get this fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>over with</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy stood up, marching around to look Steve in the eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> is getting done until you cut the attitude. If you’re pissed off at me, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>say it</span>
  </em>
  <span> so we can talk this shit out.” Steve ground their jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Robin and Heather are fighting, and they dragged me into it, and it’s just been </span>
  <em>
    <span>all fucking day</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this shit.” Billy placed both hands on Steve’s shoulders, rubbing his thumbs into the tense knots he found there. “Robin came to me to complain about some things she was frustrated at Heather about, and I went with her to talk to Heather, who got mad that I was brought into it, and about how Robin </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> goes to me </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like who </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> go to their best friend to vent? It just so happened that this </span>
  <em>
    <span>particular</span>
  </em>
  <span> frustration was something I think should be talked about, but Heather said I was taking Robin’s side without all the facts, and it’s just been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>day</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” They sighed heavily. “What are we gonna do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About the </span>
  <em>
    <span>dance</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or-?” Billy really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> confused, confused about the question, confused about the way Steve’s face, so calm just a split second ago was suddenly twisting back up, the way they stepped out of Billy’s reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, about Robin and Heather.” Billy just shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it gotta do with us?” Steve’s jaw went tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re their friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but if they’re in a fight or some shit, that’s between them to sort out. I mean, I think you’ve already meddled enough-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meddled?” Steve’s eyes fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>crackled</span>
  </em>
  <span> as they glared at Billy. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Meddled</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Billy huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, meddled. Got in the middle of their shit. You should’ve just left it to them. Other peoples’ shit isn’t your business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so now our </span>
  <em>
    <span>best friends</span>
  </em>
  <span> are just </span>
  <em>
    <span>other people</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Great.” Steve rolled their eyes dramatically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy watched as they sank </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> back into that bitchy queen bee stance from Billy’s first ballet class, when Steve took one look at Billy and turned their nose </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you know</span>
  </em>
  <span>, other peoples’ problems aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> responsibility.” It looked like Steve was about to burst into flames, like they were about to </span>
  <em>
    <span>explode</span>
  </em>
  <span> with energy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>righteous</span>
  </em>
  <span> fury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ve just been </span>
  <em>
    <span>dumping</span>
  </em>
  <span> my problems </span>
  <em>
    <span>all over you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I didn’t realize they </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> your </span>
  <em>
    <span>responsibility</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy’s heart was thumping against his rib cage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was beginning to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, beginning to feel the way he used to feel when Neil looked at him a little too sharply, said something a little too </span>
  <em>
    <span>pointed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was stomping to their bag near the wall, yanking off their pointe shoes, tossing them in their bag. They were usually so careful with the delicate shoes, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>loving</span>
  </em>
  <span> with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant, Steve. You know that.” Steve whirled around, their hair wild, their eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I? Do I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know that</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Because I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> anymore. I just found out that I’m a giant fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>burden</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy clenched his fists. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe in 1...2...3...hold it 1...2...3….breathe out 1...2...3...hold it 1...2...3…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>burden</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Steve. I just meant-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>save it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve swung their bag over their shoulder. “You can keep the space to finish </span>
  <em>
    <span>your piece</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy’s blood was </span>
  <em>
    <span>boiling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My piece</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know. Since we decided </span>
  <em>
    <span>this one</span>
  </em>
  <span> was supposed to be about </span>
  <em>
    <span>our relationship</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it doesn’t make sense to do a piece about something that doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>exist</span>
  </em>
  <span> anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like being punched in the gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like all the air was knocked out of his lungs, and he was scrambling for purchase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve,” he tried to reach for their delicate wrist, tried not to let his heart break as they evaded his grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pushed all the way to the door, only turning to look down their nose at Billy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you realize what I’m about to go do. And I hope you understand that it’s your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slammed behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hands shook as his knees gave, as he lowered himself clumsily to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to scream, to cry, to pull out his fucking hair. He wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fight</span>
  </em>
  <span>, wanted to find Steve and fight </span>
  <em>
    <span>for them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, find some random asshole and get his knuckles bloody. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Energy was surging under his skin. Anger and fear and sadness and regret, so much fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>regret</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> what Steve was doing right now, knew they probably had two fingers halfway down their throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Saut de Chat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve was maybe a little harsh. <br/>Okay, a lot harsh. <br/>It’s not like they were wrong, not like they didn’t go and purge for nearly an hour after the fight. <br/>But maybe looking Billy dead in the eye and affirming it was his fault is kind of, kind of a lot. <br/>But they were so fucking mad, and they were so fucking hurt, and they wanted Billy to be hurt too. </p><p>-</p><p>Steve's day before the fight.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here's what happened in Steve's life that day that made them snap at Billy. <br/>Added another chapter because I wanted these two to stew in misery a little bit longer, but we're so close to the end of this fic! Which is wild to me! Hope y'all enjoy :)</p><p>-</p><p>Tw: transphobic language and slurs</p><p>-</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Steve was </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> a little harsh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> harsh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not like they </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> go and purge for nearly an hour after the fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe looking Billy dead in the eye and affirming it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his fault</span>
  </em>
  <span> is kind of, kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they were so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and they were so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and they wanted Billy to be hurt too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Billy’s face cracked harder than Steve’s ever seen it when they said </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It looked like he’d been broken in half, and he looked so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Steve’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen him look fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went back home, smiling tightly at their roommate, trying to hold together as </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> as they could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They curled up in bed, turning their phone off and tossing it away. Twitter had been going </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy</span>
  </em>
  <span> all day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their mind was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>reeling. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy just seemed so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not Billy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that with Steve, that cavalier, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>unwilling</span>
  </em>
  <span> to help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe that help didn’t extend </span>
  <em>
    <span>past</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> a thought, that Billy just had Steve tucked away in his pocket, barely gave the rest of their friends the time of day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they shouldn’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>shocked</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Billy had a tendency to get his head up his own ass a little bit, they remember Heather </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Robin’s room after the fight she had with Billy before Spring Break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>gotten that way with Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe that was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he was a bleeding heart when it came to Steve, but that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s as far as his one-track mind extended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Robin had always gone </span>
  <em>
    <span>on and on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, insisting that Billy had </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Steve, using moments like this as an </span>
  <em>
    <span>example</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and maybe, maybe she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That thought just made Steve even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> like shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t fair to go off and Billy that hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just, well, there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>all of it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their day began with a text. A random girl from ballet class Steve had clung to the first week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katherine: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ummmmm, have you seen this????? </span>
  </em>
  <span>😬</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The message had a link to a tweet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled it up, eyes bleary from just waking up, and their heart fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>stopped</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Alex. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuckin Alex</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had tweeted Steve’s nudes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their entire body was trembling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were four pictures, and the caption, the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>caption</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bulimic fucking crossdresser thinks he can get away with being a little bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like the world had gone </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They </span>
  <em>
    <span>genuinely</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t know which was the worse part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they couldn’t help themself, began scrolling through replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You really fucked a drag queen?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>wait, is this the tranny that slashed ur dads tires ??</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>lmao serves you right just stick to pussy. REAL pussy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And all of a sudden, Steve was back in high school, scrubbing slurs of their locker and being shoved against walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Steve remembers taking the pictures Alex had posted. Remembers feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span> in new sets of lingerie, remembers looking at their body, a little less emaciated, a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>healthier</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>liking</span>
  </em>
  <span> how they looked with more meat on their bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their hands were shaking as they got up, pulling on a hoodie they stole from Billy and baggy jeans because </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> their jeans were baggy. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bulimic fucking crossdresser</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They could barely keep it together on the way to Robin’s, listened to music </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> too loud, hammered on her door </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> too hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened it, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span> spouted off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so glad</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s you. If it had been fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heather</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I would’ve snapped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Steve swallowed the Alex story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin had blocked him a while. She wouldn’t know about the nudes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She launched into the story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heather was supposed to come with Robin to Hawkins for the first week of summer break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dance program had a mandatory summer intensive, so Heather Steve and Billy would all be in New York over summer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they had two weeks off between semesters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An </span>
  <em>
    <span>apparently</span>
  </em>
  <span> Heather had broken the news to Robin today that she would be spending those two weeks in St. Louis with her family, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> meeting Robin’s in Hawkins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this comes </span>
  <em>
    <span>on top of</span>
  </em>
  <span> her blowing me off three times, </span>
  <em>
    <span>three times,</span>
  </em>
  <span> last week.” Steve was nodding along as she spoke, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> focused on what she was saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I think you should talk to her. I knew you’re mad, and everything, but like, what if there’s something up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat down heavily on the extra bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm scared that all this is just leading up to her dumping me.” Her voice was low as she stared at her hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve took a deep breath, trying to clear their mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather’s...</span>
  <em>
    <span>blunt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She doesn’t beat around the bush. If she wanted to break up, I really think she’d just, </span>
  <em>
    <span>do it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>messy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I mean, we have the same </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like Billy won't just aggressively pretend that everything’s fine.” She huffed a quiet laugh. “Go talk to Heather.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you, will you come with me? Just in case it’s, you know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bad.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>They smiled softly at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, ‘course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Heather grinned at Steve when she opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Heather. Robin’s been having a </span>
  <em>
    <span>morning</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’s all-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re gonna break up with me, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>do it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve closed their eyes, taking a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were beginning to develop a migraine from the events of today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so you brought </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come here and </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Confront me about </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been blowing me off, and honestly, Heather, if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to meet my parents, just fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>say so</span>
  </em>
  <span>, don’t let me </span>
  <em>
    <span>plan</span>
  </em>
  <span> on you coming to Hawkins and then-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I found out last week that my grandmother has stage four </span>
  <em>
    <span>breast cancer</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m going home because she’s probably gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin was silent. Steve wanted to bash their head against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But thank you </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span> for dragging Steve into </span>
  <em>
    <span>our relationship</span>
  </em>
  <span> just to-” Steve tuned out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t care anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re phone was going fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy</span>
  </em>
  <span> in their back pocket, buzzing away every two seconds, no doubt with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>brand new</span>
  </em>
  <span> Twitter notification. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-you </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> do this! You go rant about me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> for wanting to vent to my best friend!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you make me the villain! Talk about how I’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>blowing you off</span>
  </em>
  <span>, make me seem like </span>
  <em>
    <span>such</span>
  </em>
  <span> a piece of shit, without knowing all the facts!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>share them</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’ve been going through a lot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>over </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t act all </span>
  <em>
    <span>high and mighty</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like you don’t go complain about me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>! He’s got his head </span>
  <em>
    <span>so far</span>
  </em>
  <span> up </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve’s ass</span>
  </em>
  <span> he doesn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t bring </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span> into this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> already brought them into it!” Steve sighed, decided just to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had gone to Robin hoping for a hug, for someone to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>righteously</span>
  </em>
  <span> pissed off on their behalf. And all they’ve done is end up </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left Heather’s dorm quietly, going up the two floors to their own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>all day</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Robin had gone off for </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Steve, and those two had fought for a good long while before Steve left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They got ready for rehearsal, taking the long way to the studio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They chanced a peak at their phone upon arrival, ignoring the Twitter mentions, people tagging them in the replies to Alex’s post saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>have u seen this????</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were just hoping none of this made it back to Hawkins. They didn’t need the kids seeing this garbage. They’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> disowned if this got back to their father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they ignored Twitter of the text from Billy. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Probably gonna be late. Getting off work at six.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was six now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had to actively talk themself out of throwing their phone against the wall of mirrors, just to watch something </span>
  <em>
    <span>shatter</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today was </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plain and simple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took a few shaking breaths, trying to resist the want to go purge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when Billy showed up, it was like they weren’t even in their body anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just </span>
  <em>
    <span>snapped</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Broke </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> in half. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And ended up cutting Billy open on one of their stupid sharp edges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that sucked. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Waltz</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And he wanted to see Steve. <br/>More than anyone else in this whole world, he wanted to see them, and talk to them, and cry on their fucking shoulder. He wanted them to brush their fingers through his hair and tell him everything would be okay. </p><p>-</p><p>Some things happen. Billy's not okay.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Billy took the rest of the weekend to stew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to see anyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Didn’t think he had the strength to actually be </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> to anyone, to put his anger in the neat little box he </span>
  <em>
    <span>usually</span>
  </em>
  <span> kept it in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went on runs, getting lost in the big city just so he didn’t get lost in his own brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And come Monday morning, Steve wasn’t in ballet class. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy had </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> skipped, but he didn’t work his ass off to pay for this place just to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> go to class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ground his teeth, tried </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to think mean things about Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tired </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to think about them being a little baby about this situation when it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> who took things too far, when it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> that made a big bullshit deal about everything Billy said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He avoided Heather like the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>plague</span>
  </em>
  <span> when she tried to follow him out of the building, just pretended his music was too loud to hear her calling after him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> he underestimated her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuckhead</span>
  </em>
  <span>, quit pretending you can’t hear me!” She shoved at his shoulder, made him stumble a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather, not to be rude, but can you </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck off right now? I’m not really in a place where being </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> can happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, ‘cause you’re so fuckign </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheerful</span>
  </em>
  <span> every other day of your life.” She slammed her phone in his hand. “Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy glared at her, only wrenching his eyes away to look at her phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a screenshot of a tweet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something Fuckin’ Alex had posted. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Steve’s nudes</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fuckin’ Alex had posted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Robin’s really upset. Steve won’t talk to her. They’ve just been locked in their room all weekend. Have you talked to them?” Billy tightened his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. They kinda, they kinda blew up at me on Saturday.” Although this explains </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy wanted to kill Fuckin’ Alex. More than he usually did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robin and I and a bunch of the girls from ballet class have reported it, and we were going to go to the university, but we can’t go on Steve’s behalf. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They</span>
  </em>
  <span> need to go. But we looked it up, and this is revenge porn </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> could probably be classified as a hate crime, too. Steve could like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally</span>
  </em>
  <span> get Alex thrown out of school. Probably even get a lawsuit going too. Can you talk to Steve? Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heath, I kinda, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> got into it. I know that this is, this is</span>
  <em>
    <span> huge</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but like, can you and Robin handle it? I don’t really think I can talk to Steve right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, you’re not going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>help us</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They said some pretty fucked up shit, and I mean, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>makes sense</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously</span>
  </em>
  <span> they were going through it, and all, but I need a minute. I think if I see them I’ll explode. They don’t need me being an asshole with </span>
  <em>
    <span>all of this</span>
  </em>
  <span> happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>petty</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he was also just fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>livid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, honestly Billy, I think they’ll listen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> more than me or Robin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I’m just scared that if I see them, I won’t be able to control what I say. I do that sometimes, where it’s like my mouth is just </span>
  <em>
    <span>saying things</span>
  </em>
  <span> and mybrain is </span>
  <em>
    <span>screaming</span>
  </em>
  <span> to shut the fuck up, and I just don’t want to make things </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And like, they kinda yelled at me for saying other people’s problems aren’t their responsibility, and they got mad and like, sarcastically apologized for dumping their problems on me since they aren’t my responsibility, which is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> what I meant, but they were just, they were just mad.” Billy gets it. He does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heather looked like she didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re being selfish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably. Usually am.” She studied him, her brows furrowing a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just mad. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Real</span>
  </em>
  <span> mad. Don’t feel much like a person when I’m mad like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“”Kay, well Robin and I are gonna try with Steve. And talk to me if you need, okay? Other people’s problems aren’t your responsibility, but it’s okay to help a friend shoulder their load. I’m always a friend if you need one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just right there in the dirty street, Billy felt like even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a worthless shithead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better friend than me. Better friend than I </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cut that shit out. You’re not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You spent years trying to protect yourself from like, actual physical danger in your own </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It makes sense that you can be a little self-focused.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a nice way to put it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re trying to protect yourself. There’s nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> with that, I just hope you can learn when you don’t have to. When you can </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Slowly</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She gave him a little half smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Start going to therapy, Idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His plan of full avoidance of most of humanity as to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> go off like a bomb worked pretty well until Wednesday evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what have you been up to?” Max was being </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all shifty and quiet sounding. She had asked him the same question three times now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just class and stuff.” He hadn’t told her about the fight. She would just get mad and say some shit about Steve that was probably the </span>
  <em>
    <span>exact same shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> Billy was thinking, but it would make him feel shitty to hear her bad mouthing them, and it would just be a big ol’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>mess</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh. Yeah. That’s good.” She sounded far away, like her brain was clicked off and she was running on autopilot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on, Max?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh, I just don’t know how to say all this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably best just to spit it out, then.” His heart started thumping against his ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If this is what he thinks it is-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mom’s leaving Neil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t really know what to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She kicked him out on Friday.” So five whole days then. Nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because he hit me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There it is</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy set the phone down on his bed, his hands shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took several deep breaths, one hand on his chest to make sure his heart didn’t crash through his ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max was frantic sounding when he brought the phone back to his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-illy, Billy are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just fuckin’ needed a </span>
  <em>
    <span>minute</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Max. You- He- I just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. But it was just the one time, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>promise</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>any amount </span>
  </em>
  <span>of-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> blame yourself. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get out. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to leave. You’re so much better off in New York, Billy. You are not allowed to beat yourself up over this, you got it?” Billy nearly snorted at her choice of words, but it felt like his throat had closed up for good. “Plus, mom kicked him out, and she got a lawyer, and everything. And it’s not like Neil </span>
  <em>
    <span>adopted me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or whatever, so divorce is just splitting up their assets or something like that.” She kept going on and on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy was chewing his thumb, ripping at the skin around his nail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His blood was thrumming like electricity through his veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>just once</span>
  </em>
  <span>! He tripped over my skateboard and got mad at me for leaving it out. It wasn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s bad by definition.” She blew out a breath. It crackled over the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never would’ve said that about the times he hit </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy just yanked at a piece of skin with his teeth. His thumb was bleeding. “Billy, I’m okay. Mom’s dealing with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just kept chewing at his thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you, like, need a minute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. I know it’s a lot. That’s why I didn’t tell you right away. Just promise me you won’t blame yourself, okay? This isn’t on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I-Thanks, Max.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” He let her hang up. Let the phone slip from his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to get in a fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to bash his fist against a wall until his knuckles shattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to tear his father in half. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he wanted to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than anyone else in this whole world, he wanted to see them, and talk to them, and cry on their fucking shoulder. He wanted them to brush their fingers through his hair and tell him everything would be okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was moving before he even realized, his brain fuzzed out and spinning on without him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet brought him to the room, to the paper hot air balloon the R.A. had put on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He traced the name, the glitter glue flaking off of the e. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he knocked on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was grinning when he opened it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy grabbed the front of his t-shirt, slamming him against the wall of the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like he left his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One moment, he was wrenching Alex forward, the next his knuckles were stinging, and Alex was slumped on the ground, had blood running down his face, a split lip, a black eye, and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> broken nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a piece of shit.” He squatted down, getting himself level with Alex. “You stay the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> away from my friends, you hear me.” He spat on Alex’s face, made his flinch. “Fuckin’ Alex.” Billy shoved him back down, got a savage little kick out of the way his head cracked against the shitty carpet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few curious people were standing in their doorways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood up, glaring at them each in turn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anymore transphobes feelin’ like they wanna get hit?” Everyone dispersed, going back into their dorms, leaving Billy alone in the hall with Alex once again. “You’re pathetic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned on his heel, feeling just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little bit </span>
  </em>
  <span>lighter as he stomped down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s building wasn’t too far away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just enough of a walk for Billy to get himself a teensy bit under control. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the stairs up, his adrenaline carrying him through to Steve’s door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocked softly, used the hand that wasn’t fucked up from Alex’s stupid face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go away, Robin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a shuffling, like blankets being flung to the end of a bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Billy felt all his fight rush out of him in one breath when Steve opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not gonna lie, I'm not totally in love with this chapter, but it's pretty solid. I originally was going to have Billy go right to Steve, but the boy needed to blow off a little steam, and Alex was RIGHT THERE, I mean, how could I not?<br/>One last chapter and then we're FINISHED. Wild. Absolutely Wild.<br/>Hope you all enjoy!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Reverance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve’s side was messy, the blankets on their bed all mussed, dirty clothes spilling out of the hamper in the corner onto the floor. <br/>Billy just sat down on the bed, let Steve perch on the desk chair. <br/>“I have a lot to say.”<br/>“Okay.”<br/>“So don’t talk.” Steve just nodded.</p><p>-</p><p>They have a talk.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow. Last chapter. <br/>I've been writing and posting this fic for so long now, it feels absolutely wild to finish it up. I hope you all enjoy!</p><p>-</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr <a href="https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/">@yikesharringrove</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s voice was hoarse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have said that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You shouldn’t’ve.” Billy felt numb as their eyes got all watery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There was just, it was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I know about Alex, and the, what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>posted</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve looked like they were about to cry. Billy </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> like he was about to cry. “And look, I just, what you said was fucked up regardless, and I’m so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I, I had a shitty day, and I’m so </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed off</span>
  </em>
  <span> at you, but you are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>one person</span>
  </em>
  <span> I wanted to see today. Literally, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only person</span>
  </em>
  <span> I wanted to talk to.” Steve just nodded, eyes wide, and ushered Billy inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s side was messy, the blankets on their bed all mussed, dirty clothes spilling out of the hamper in the corner onto the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy just sat down on the bed, let Steve perch on the desk chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a lot to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So don’t talk.” Steve just nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad hit Max.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said don’t talk.” Steve’s jaw snapped closed, and they nodded again. “He fucking, she left her skateboard out, and he tripped over it. And I fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>told her</span>
  </em>
  <span> not to do that shit. Knew it would set him off. And it fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And he hit her, and her mom kicked him out. Just like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he snapped loudly. “And I, you know, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span> for them, for getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of their lives, but I, I also,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, here come the tears. “How many </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamn times</span>
  </em>
  <span> did Susan see him hit me? He </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> hid it. He did that shit in front of her </span>
  <em>
    <span>before they were married</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And she would just look away. Every damn time, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>look away</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” His voice broke. He swiped furiously at the tears on his cheeks. “I know I’m not her kid, I know I’m not her </span>
  <em>
    <span>responsibility</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but she could’ve, she could’ve taken her kid and left. It was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> of her, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>both of us</span>
  </em>
  <span> to think he wouldn’t touch Max.” Steve had rolled their lips into their mouth, like they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>physically</span>
  </em>
  <span> stopping themself from saying something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Max, she said it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He just slapped her. And I said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it's bad by definition</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and she said I would never say that about myself, and she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because I don’t know what came first, the anger or the hits. I don’t know if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve it</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve raised their hands slightly, apologizing for intruding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes I think I was a shitty enough kid that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but did he </span>
  <em>
    <span>make me</span>
  </em>
  <span> a shitty kid? You know?” Steve’s brows were furrowed, their mouth pinched. “I’m just always so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I can’t control it. It’s so much bigger than me, and I spend all my time and energy trying to wrangle this goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>monster</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausted</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Steve. I’m fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired, and I’m just, I’m fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m sad that, that my mom </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed herself</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get away from my dad. I’m sad that Susan only gave a shit about what Neil was doing when it was to Max. I’m sad that I’m so fucking hopelessly </span>
  <em>
    <span>in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> with you that you are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>one person</span>
  </em>
  <span> I wanna see when all this horrible shit crashes down around me, even though I am so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking mad</span>
  </em>
  <span> at you for what you said, and that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>apparently</span>
  </em>
  <span> want </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do with me. I’m sad that I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell you</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Alex gave me a bad vibe, but I just thought I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>jealous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> making a fair judgment, and you were so </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m sad that I’m the shittiest friend </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> to you and Heather and Robin. I’m sad that for all my bullshit promises, I couldn’t protect Max from my dad. All I ever do is fucking, fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt people</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and that makes me </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like he had ripped out his guts and thrown them on the floor at Steve’s feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything laid bare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bent forward, let the sobs wrack his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shifted quietly, sitting next to him on the bed, one arm thrown over his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurt people. That’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> you do. I’m living fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>proof</span>
  </em>
  <span> of that. You have helped me </span>
  <em>
    <span>so fucking much</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I’m sorry, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry for what I said. I knew that saying that would hurt you, so I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and that was fucked up and I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy moved to rest his head in their lap, crying into their leg. “I don’t even know where half that shit I said came from. You are my </span>
  <em>
    <span>best friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You are good, and kind, and the strongest motherfucker on this </span>
  <em>
    <span>Earth</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Their fingers were trailing softly through his hair. “It’s okay to be hurt that Susan never stood up for you like she did Max. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be angry and sad about it. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>should’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> said something. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>should’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> gotten you out. Hell, </span>
  <em>
    <span>your mom</span>
  </em>
  <span> should’ve gotten you out.” Billy just sobbed harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Steve was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> resented her the teeniest tiniest bit for taking her own life, for leaving him alone with a father that wanted them both to suffer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All you do is try your very best, Billy. But the world has beaten you, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and if your best is the bare minimum. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy had curled in on himself, was clutching at Steve’s sweatpants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just let him cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like a dam had broken. Everything Billy had been keeping inside for </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>, really, just all flooding out at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s fingers were nice in his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Steve took a deep breath, and started </span>
  <em>
    <span>singing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Really soft, barely even loud enough for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hear, to make out the song. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dream a Little Dream of Me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Billy, while drunk and stupid one night, had gone off for close to </span>
  <em>
    <span>half an hour</span>
  </em>
  <span> about how that was the best song ever written, and how there were only </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> valid versions: The Mamas and the Papas, and Ella Fitzgerald with Louis Armstrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made him cry harder. </span>
</p><p><span>That Steve knew it by heart, was fucking </span><em><span>singing</span></em> <em><span>it </span></em><span>for him. </span></p><p>
  <span>It took him until the end of the song to calm down enough to stop crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head was throbbing from how </span>
  <em>
    <span>severely</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had just dehydrated himself, and there was a wet spot on Steve’s pant leg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was looking at him with soft eyes when he finally sat up, handed him the bottle of water next to their bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy chugged about half of it, suddenly feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> awkward, thinking about describing himself as </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopelessly in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna be okay?” Billy just shrugged, not looking at them. “I meant what I said, you know? All that shit. I don’t know if you were listening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was. And thanks, I appreciate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want nothing to do with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, and about you </span>
  <em>
    <span>being in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopelessly</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a reason. It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you don’t love me. Not like that, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy, are you fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> made Billy’s head whip around. He stared at Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have been trying to send you signals </span>
  <em>
    <span>all year</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>all over you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> in love with you, Robin says it’s disgusting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m clingy, by definition, but like, Billy we </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I was always stealing your clothes and shit like, I thought you </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> and were just, politely ignoring it. So I kinda, I figured I’d take what I could get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know.” He swallowed thickly. “That’s how I felt too. Just taking what I could get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robin was up my ass about it. Kept saying you loved me back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather said the same shit. About once a week.” Steve just looked at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they threw their head back, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>dumb</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” They slumped back on their bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dumb? Or just traumatized and trained to think we’re not deserving of love?” Steve swatted at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>just finished</span>
  </em>
  <span> having a breakdown. Don’t make me have one.” He huffed a laugh, falling back to lay next to Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were quiet for a moment, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay?” Steve had turned to study his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m still sorry. For the whole fight. It’s okay if you don’t wanna forgive me right now. Or for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How you doin’? You eaten since Friday?” Billy didn’t really wanna talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> heavy for the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> all of this shit had to be revisited at some point, probably with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>professional</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he just wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the rest of the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think Monday? I definitely ate at some point in there, but I can’t remember.” Billy just nodded once, sitting up and scrubbing at his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Baby. Let’s get you some dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve ended up eating two slices of pizza. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy figured it was probably for his sake. Steve eating a little bit extra so that Billy didn't have to worry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was sweet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ordered it to Steve’s dorm, curling up in the twin-sized bed together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat quietly, watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Princess Bride</span>
  </em>
  <span> because Steve nearly screamed when they realized it had been added to Netflix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Billy had his head on Steve’s chest, and they were carding their fingers softly through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t talk about anything, both feeling like they had bared their souls a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>too much</span>
  </em>
  <span> today already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Billy felt lighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felt a little bit in love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for the first time in such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> while, that feeling didn’t scare him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, next we’ve got a duet from Steve and Billy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy wasn’t nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> got nervous before performances. He and Steve had been practicing for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>ready</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was a different story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their gut was all tied up. Their hands clammy and shaking just a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy smiled softly at them, one hand holding onto their shoulder, squeezing lightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We got this, Baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> have it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They executed their piece just as they had in practice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hit every lift, every turn and move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, heard a few members of the class gasp when they hit one specific pose, Steve en pointe, leaning towards Billy in a weight share. They held both of Billy’s hands with theirs, one of their long legs up above their head, only to pull out on beat, hyperextending their splits before sweeping the leg down, Billy yanking them up into a lift. One of their legs was bent over his shoulder, the other pointed down his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arched back, arms above their head, nearly folding in half as Billy held their waist, turning them slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the move they were both the most proud of. Had taken them </span>
  <em>
    <span>several</span>
  </em>
  <span> tries before figuring out the logistics. Several tries of not getting up, or both of them falling to the floor laughing, and Billy getting kicked </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the face by a hard pointe shoe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They got out of the lift by Billy lowering Stev into a back walkover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Billy had said </span>
  <em>
    <span>let’s show off a bit, yeah?</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Steve wasn’t gonna say </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ended the piece as the beat faded out, Steve standing off center stage, facing out, Billy pressed to their back, one hand spread on their stomach, the other linked with their own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The class applauded, and they took their seats, Steve leaning against Billy, nearly giving him all of their weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffed a laugh as the next piece began, wrapped one arm around Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did a good job,” they turned to murmur into Billy’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy caught their little smile in the corner of his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he turned and pressed a kiss to that smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just because he could. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's all, folks! Thank you all so much for reading. For putting up with my irregular posts and all my moods. I have an idea for more with these two, so there may be an epilogue heading out at some point ;)</p><p>All my love for all of you 💕</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments and kudos are always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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